


Shift

by OurLittleSecretOkay



Series: Here [5]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: AUs, Drabble Collection, alt timelines, aus abound
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-06-14 05:39:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 70
Words: 64,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15381882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OurLittleSecretOkay/pseuds/OurLittleSecretOkay
Summary: A collection of drabbles, half-baked plots, and ideas from the Here universe. filled with loose-ends, self-indulgent nonsense, and prompt work.AUs and alternate timelines abound, riddled with noncanonical, semicanonical, and definitively canonical cut scenes! Enjoy!





	1. The way you said “I love you” when the broken glass litters the floor

Did it even matter anymore who hit first when the violence was a senseless as it was ineffective? No, not ineffective--Mutual. Shared. In the end she wasn’t any better off, and now, they had one less bottle of wine. She had one less bottle of wine. It really was his fault; he should have known better.

It was his fault, really. He should have known better. “You wouldn’t dare.” Had stupider words ever been spoken? Any indecisiveness left in her shattered with the glass against the floor the moment he had spoken. For a moment, she seemed so startled herself that he could laugh, but her surprise quickly steeled itself into harsh indignation. 

Wordlessly, he picked up his own glass, and not breaking eye contact, he dropped it. It smashed with a satisfying, if brief, symphony of cracks.  
“Hey!” she turned her eyes back to him, livid, “I have to clean that up now!”  
“Oh, I’m sorry, did my juvenile little temper tantrum somehow inconvenience you?”  
“I swear, I-” Quickly, she lifted a plate holding it above her head, “If you don’t apologize, I’ll drop it!”  
“Then drop it.”  
She did. Less satisfyingly, the plate fell with a thunk, only chipping against the floor.  
“No, here; more like this.” Lifting the offending piece above his head, he brought it down hard, scatting the porcelain into a constellation of fragments. “Try again.”

Burning, she grabbed the closest thing within reach, which just happened to be another stemmed glass. Letting it fall to the floor, she kept her hands in the air, gesturing out, “There! Is that better? Is that good enough for you, you asshole?”  
“Ehh,” he clicked his tongue, doing his damndest to be as infuriating as possible. “More of a break than a shatter. If you’re going to ruin my things, at least have the decency to do it well. Observe-” he broke another, smaller, dish.  
“Fuck off! You have a height advantage!”  
“Language. Besides, it’s a bad craftsman who blames his tools. At this point, I’m willing to bet you can’t.”  
“You- I am not-” Entirely too easily baited, she only hesitated a moment. Ready to damn them both at this point, she grabbed the nearest bottle of wine. Lifting the bottle behind her head, she was only marginally aware of him being there at all.  
“Wait!” He held his hands out. Did he really think he could stop her now? “Maybe you’re onto something!” And then he was catching her around her thighs, lifting her up. The side of her leg pressed to his shoulder, and she wobbled a bit, catching herself. “Alright, now go!”  
Holding onto the bottle she was only moments ago threatening to obliterate, she looked down at him, at them, making such an obscene show of impropriety she hoped an afterlife didn’t exist just so that no one else had to witness it. And then she laughed.

She laughed, “I- I changed my mind. I don’t want to anymore.”  
“What do you mean you don’t want to?” Unable to look at her face, he simply tilted his head upwards.  
“Seems like a waste of wine, yeah?”  
“Of course it is. Wine is one of the few things meant to be wasted.”  
“I don’t know. Hardly seems worth it anymore if it isn’t going to piss you off.”  
“At this point, it would be more distressing if you didn’t.”  
“You’re only hurting yourself here.”  
“I didn’t know dropping things required so much thought.”  
“Alright. Here; you ready?”  
“I was born ready.”

Hoisting the bottle over her head again, this time she let it fall the impressive length to the floor. Both of them watched it, the glass breaking marvelously into small bits that littered the floor. The cherry red wine exploded like a firework, making a crime scene of the already dismal floor. Grabbing onto his shoulders, she let him lower her onto the table.  
She tried to hop down, among the carnage, but he stopped her with a quick hand, “Better stay up there. I don’t know if you know this, but there’s some glass on our floor.”  
“Only some?” Looking down, she surveyed with equal parts pride and dread the menagerie of incomplete pieces, a mosaic in honor of madness. Folie a deux, the artform. The cuffs of his pants were thoroughly stained, and she wondered abscently if she’d be able to wash it out. Part of her hoped not. It would serve him right. But then he was kissing her and she couldn’t be mad, couldn’t remain angry; it was all so ridiculous.

And she was beautiful, surrounded by debris and bad decisions. Her arms sagged with the tiredness only a good and lethal outburst can bring, and he’d be lying if he denied how incredibly gorgeous she looked, weapon in hand, even if said weapon is only a chipped plate. He kissed her, and she leaned into him, holding onto his shoulders, her hands tugging him closer. He touched her knees, the stained fabric of her dress, her deceptively strong legs, which she was now pressing against him.  
“God, I love you.” The words were as much a part of the scene as the spilled wine and shattered ceramic. He was all tied up in the mess too, irrevocably and unaccountably undone by her. He kissed her lips and she kissed him back, kindly allowing his destruction.


	2. The way you said “I love you” from very far away

It was weird not seeing him. She didn’t want to say she didn’t like it, but she certainly wasn’t used to it. He was such a large personality, any space not occupied by him seemed suddenly to be lacking. No, not lacking, empty. Or maybe empty wasn’t right either. Maybe she was spending too much time thinking about it.  
Things were quieter; that much was certain. And perhaps more ominous. The only thing worse than having him around was not having him around; there was no telling what he was up to. And honestly, if history was to be a predictor, it could be just about anything. It wouldn’t have been worth it to ask; he only would have dodged the question, and besides, did she really want to know? Ignorance wasn’t necessarily bliss, but neither was knowing and being unable to do anything about it. The worst part of it was that he probably didn’t think half as much about her. It was ridiculous, being worried about a grown man. Although, to be fair, she was less worried about him and more worried for everybody else. He was a force of destruction, she was well aware of that. And still, the house seemed too quiet.  
The knock at the door startled her. She was smart enough to be scared by it; he didn’t tend to have visitors she liked, let alone wanted to be with alone. When she peered through the window, the man outside seemed concerningly at ease, bored almost. Carefully, she opened the door only after taking stock of the nearby lamp, which could easily be employed as a weapon if need be.  
The man appraised her quickly, “Can you sign for a delivery?”  
She raised an eyebrow, but nodding, scrawled out a signature on the clipboard proffered her. Handing her a deceptively light box, the man nodded with a tip of his hat and was off.  
Closing the door behind her, she turned the package over in her hands. It was awkwardly shaped, all length with almost no width. Setting it down on the kitchen counter, she chose the slightest knife she could, carefully opening it.  
The cardboard unfurled to reveal a mess of flowers, gaudy implausible shades of oranges and reds. More than a bit surprised, she lifted them from the box carefully, looking them over. A tag fell to the ground which she bent to pick up, careful not to crumple the flowers.  
“Will be late. Don’t get into trouble, but if you must, at least make sure you keep the problems solvable.” He didn’t specify how late, but judging from the amount of flowers, she was willing to bet it would be at least another two days. Searching the kitchen for a vase, she came up empty, and so filling a glass with water, she carefully placed them in, letting them settle however they pleased. Gently, she placed them on the counter, making sure they got the best of the kitchen sunlight. The petals were a spot of warmth, soft and lovely amongst the hard edges of knives and cabinets. Sighing, she touched them lightly with her fingertips, feeling the velvet softness beneath her hands.


	3. The way you said “I love you” as a taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips

“Can I ask for a moment’s peace, or is that too unreasonable?” He didn’t have to see her face to know the exact expression she was making; exasperation, indignation, and something akin to a dare. She faced towards the kitchen window, more fixed on the dishes than the task demanded, rubbing circles until he was sure she was going to bore straight through the plate.  
“Come now, it’s a bit early for flattery, isn’t it?”  
“Is there any chance of me convincing you to leave me alone?”  
“I doubt it.”  
“Any particular thing I’ve done to incur such punishment?”  
“Well,” coming up behind her, he rested his hands against her waist, “that neckline isn’t particularly helping.”  
“Let go, I’m still mad at you.” Sidestepping, she removed herself from his grasp.  
“Come on, we both know you can’t stay mad,” reaching for her again, he kissed the back of her neck.  
“Really? Is that really something you want to bet?”  
“You’re very easily… persuaded into my favor.”  
“Alright, that’s it. You’re done. Get out.”  
“Now, I hardly think you’re being fair. Here I am, slaving away, and you can’t even take yourself away from your things for five minutes for your poor, suffering husband?”  
“My th- I’m washing dishes, you idiot.”  
“Is that anyway to speak to your lover?”  
“You’re completely and utterly insufferable--you know that, right?”  
“All I ever do is try to help,” languishingly, he stretched himself out so that he was exactly in her way, the back of a hand pressed to his forehead, “and nothing is ever good enough for demanding, needy Violet.”  
“Yes, bravo. Quite the performance.”  
“I receive no respect, no acknowledgement,” theatrically, he threw his arm over his eyes in a grand show of distress. She giggled despite herself, quickly sifling the sound, but not quickly enough to keep him from catching it. Just barely suppressing a smirk, he continued. “All day long you beat and berate me and leave me for dishes.”

“A wonderful, if inaccurate, performance. Inspiring, really. Now if you’re quite done-”  
“Have you ever known me to be done?”  
“Fair enough.”  
“Besides, has it ever occured to you that maybe I didn’t come here to see you. Maybe I don’t need an alibi or motive just to enter my own damn kitchen?”  
“In which case you’d be leaving me alone, yes?”  
“Why so eager to see me go? Have something to sneak off to?”  
“No, but it would serve you right.”  
“For what?”  
“For whatever the hell this is.” Her words were harsh but she smirked as she said them.  
“Oh yes? Well, maybe I’ll sneak off then.”  
“Alright.”  
“Who knows, maybe I’ll find a wife who appreciates my so-called ‘interruptions.’ One who likes me more than dishes.”  
“Yes, good luck with that.”  
“You’re talking big for someone about to be fired.”  
“When it’s a marriage, I believe it’s called divorce.”  
“See, this attitude is exactly why I’m leaving you.”  
“Oh, I’m sure,” picking up a cloth, she began to dry a plate.  
“You don’t think I can?”  
“I don’t think you will.”  
“Oh? What’s keeping me?”  
Standing on her toes, she kissed him quick, with a smile, “You weren’t smart enough to not get invested.”  
“Oh, yes, because I really just love you so much,” he scoffed as he said it, but leaning down, he kissed her again, encircling her waist.


	4. The way you said “I love you” over and over again, til it’s nothing but a senseless babble

“Can I help you?”  
“Just looking.”  
“Alright, well,” she gripped his wrists, pulling his hands off her face, “maybe a little less touching with all that looking.”  
“How often do you look at your face?”  
“Pardon?”  
“Is that what takes women so long to get ready? Is it looking at your face?”  
“Okay, you’re drunk. Let’s go, time for bed.”  
“No no no, I’m serious,” he fell backwards as she tried to pull him up, tugging her down towards him.   
Fruitlessly she pulled at his arm, “Besides, you take twice as long as me to get ready for anything.”  
“And I am very handsome.”  
“Speaking of you, why don’t we get you upstairs? Come on, help me.”  
“Shh,” he shushed her gently, once more catching her face between his hands. “Listen to what I am saying.”  
“I’m listening.” Her tone had all the resigned qualities of any person trying to talk sense into their drunken quarry.   
“You…” he gripped her tighter, holding her cheeks fast between his palms, “You.”  
“Yes?”  
“Your face.”  
“So you’ve said.”  
“It’s pretty alright, you know.”  
“Well, if I wasn’t swooning already. Come on, you can tell me more about my face upstairs.”  
“Upstairs?” he cocked an eyebrow, delightfully amused, “Are you trying to take advantage of me?”  
“No, I’m trying to take you to bed, only,” sighing, she switched tactics, “I’m afraid I’m just not strong enough.”  
“What?”  
“I can’t lift you. I’m not tough and manly enough to get you upstairs.”  
“No one is.”  
“No one at all?”  
“Have you ever known anyone to successfully make me do anything?”  
“Never,” she shook her head reverently. “Why’s that?”  
“Because I’m a very,” he lolled, sitting forward, “I’m a very powerful man.”  
“Oh, of course.”  
“And you,” he pushed her hair back messily, pulling her face towards him so that he could be sure she was looking at him, “You are very pretty.”  
“So you’ve said. A few times already.”  
“No, you’re not listening,” he was becoming visibly agitated and so she quieted down, looking at him meaningfully. “It’s very important, for me, that you’re pretty because I can only ever have the best, yes?”  
“Sounds right.”  
“Yes. But here’s the thing,” his flicking eyes met hers, holding her stare, “You. God damn. God damn it. You did such a good job.”  
“A good job?”  
“At, I don’t know. At you. At being terrible and pretty and small and,” he brushed her hair back again, pausing. “You really fucked me over here, you know that, right?”  
“Pardon?”  
“That,” he held a finger up, treacherously close to her face, “that was your fault.”  
“What was my fault?”  
“I didn’t mean to.”  
“I’m sure you didn’t.”  
“I just. Fuck, I love you.” He held onto her desperately, a look of clear terror in his eyes that broke into an amused laugh.   
She laughed too, despite herself, “Alright, yeah. How much did you drink? More importantly, what did you drink? Straight absinthe?”  
“I love you, I do, I love you.”  
“I’m aware.”  
“No, listen. I’m trying to tell you something.”  
“I’m listening! I’ve already told you I’m listening.”   
Holding her face mere inches from his, he stared straight into her eyes, humorously serious, “I… love you.” She laughed then and he laughed too, not entirely certain why they were laughing, but happy all the same.  
“Alright. Thank you very much. Do you want to sleep on the couch tonight?”  
“No,” struggling he stood, “I don’t know if you know this, but I have a bed.”  
“Oh, do you? I wasn’t aware.”  
“And my bed has a wife in it.”  
“Any wife at all?”  
“My wife. Mine. And she’s…” he paused at the stairs, cupping her face again to kiss her. She held onto him warily, hoping he wouldn’t tip over onto her. Unsteady, he leaned against the wall, pulling her along with him. “God. I love you, I do. I love you. I love you.” The words melded against her lips, twisting into something shapeless and wonderful. “I love you. I love you. I love you so fucking much. Way too much. I love you. I love you so much. I do. I love you.” Her stomach twisted, uncertain about anything save for the fact of how dangerous this was.   
“I know,” she smiled, holding onto him, “I know. Now come on, I’m tired.”


	5. The way you said “I love you” as we huddle together, the storm raging outside

“It’s not funny!”  
“To the contrary, I think it’s quite funny.”  
“You’re an ass!” But then there was a clap of thunder again and she jumped, startled.  
He laughed, “Come on. Tell me that’s not funny. Brave and resilient Violet, afraid of the weather.”  
“I’m not afraid of it! I just… don’t like it. I don’t have to be afraid of something to not like it. Kind of like you.”  
“Well that was hardly necessary.”  
Another clap of thunder boomed, rattling the windows. She grit her teeth, willing herself not to seem afraid. She only had to finish this, and then she could go. Of course it was this window which had to leak. It just had to be the highest room. Logically, she knew her odds were good, but…  
The light flashed again, swiftly followed by a booming crack. “See, we’re in the worst of it now,” he gestured out.  
“Not helpful.”  
“It’ll be over soon enough.”  
No matter how soon, it could not possibly be soon enough. Standing up, she surveyed her work. It wasn’t going to win any awards in a beauty contest, but it would do. She could make it more bearable later.  
“Alright, done.” She gathered her tools, ready to escape as quickly as possible to someplace less strikable.  
“Very nice. Are you ready for bed, now?”  
The lights flickered, causing both of them to pause, staring at the contrasting brightness outside.  
“Maybe a glass of wine first? Come on, let’s go.” Not giving him time to answer, she gathered her things, heading downstairs. 

He looked over at her as the lights flickered again. Her glance danced to the window but she didn’t say anything, simply held her glass tighter. It was weird to see her afraid, let alone of something that wasn’t him. For a moment, he even felt bad for teasing her. She downed the rest of her glass, curled stiffly at the end of the couch. Stretching out his legs, he rested his feet on top of her, earning an indignant stare.  
“Can I get you another glass?”  
“I’m fine.”  
“Alright. Let me know.” He hadn’t the slightest clue how to make her feel better, what he could possibly do that didn’t feel like teasing. As ridiculous as it was, being afraid of weather, it was almost endearing. They sat in silence, listening to the rain beating outside. He had been wrong when he’d said it would be over soon, or perhaps it only felt that way, with her putting him on edge. What a silly girl. There was another clap of thunder, and he could feel her flinch, an instinctive shudder.

“I’m getting you another glass.”  
“Okay, thank you.” She let him take it from her hand, grateful to get away from him. God, how embarrassing. The last thing she needed was for him to have something else to hold over her. It was silly, she knew it was silly. She was perfectly safe, at least from the storm. There was no way- And then there was another flash of lightning and she had to close her eyes, breathing in through her nose, trying to still her racing heart. This was fine. She was fine.  
She curled her knees in tighter to her chest, her fingers pressed to her throat, feeling her racing pulse. She was fine, damnit. There was no reason for her to be such a child about this. And yet, with every pulsing crack, she could feel the foundations of the house shake, the sound crawling into her bones, disrupting her heartbeat. God damn it. The lights flickered again, staying off this time.  
Anyone who says they aren’t afraid of the dark is a liar. Yes, she was in her own house. Yes, she was safe and warm and protected. And yes, he wasn’t there to see her jump, but damn it all if it wasn’t all the worse for that. Her fingers tightened over the fabric of the couch, trying to grip the material. Damn it all, what was taking him so long? The room was a black box, illuminated only by the flashes outside the windows, the glass shaking with each crack of lightning. There wasn’t even a moment between now. Staring at the glass, she offered up a prayer that it wouldn’t break. This was the worst of it. This was survivable. This was fine. She was fine.  
She heard him curse as he bumped into the door, opening it with his shoulder. It wasn’t every day that she was relieved to see him, and yet, she still managed to dredge up some irritation if only to keep his ego in check.  
“What took so long? Did you get lost?”  
“Pardon me for not being able to see.”  
“It’s all of ten feet away!”  
“Well, I come bearing gifts.” Carefully, he held out a mug to her. Taking it, she quickly realized it was hot, and so readjusting her grip, she brought it down to see what exactly he had gotten into. 

She seemed genuinely surprised at the cup of tea, looking up at him, “Oh, thanks.”  
There was another crack of thunder as he sat down, rolling his own glass of wine in his hand, “I just figured… I can get you something else if-”  
“No, that’s- It’s perfect. Thanks.”  
They sat in silence again, close enough to be touching but not so close that anyone could mistake it for affection.  
Sighing, he stretched his arm out along the back of the couch, resting it behind her head, “It’s getting late.”  
“If you’re tired, you should go to bed.”  
“No, I’m fine. Are you tired?”  
“No.”  
“Alright.”  
They lapsed back into silence, the white noise of the rain angry raging outside. It would be soothing, if not for her tense nature. Reaching out, he ruffled her hair, incurring an angry swat at his hand, “Hey!”  
“So, storms?”  
“What about them?”  
“They scare you?”  
“Oh my god. Drop it, will you?”  
“No, I’m not teasing this time.” She glared at him in disbelief. Holding his hands out, he shrugged, “I promise!”  
“You’re always teasing.”  
“You just make it so easy.”  
“Alright, whatever.”  
“No, I’m serious. I’m not making fun; I’m just surprised.”  
“I told you, I’m not scared.”  
“Alright, sure. You’re not scared.”  
“I’m not.”  
“I believe you.” Wrapping his arm around her, he pulled her against him. She leaned into the touch, resting her head against his shoulder. “But just say, hypothetically, that you were-”  
“Oh my god.”  
“What about it is so scary? Or, would be,” he corrected himself, “if, hypothetically, someone was to be afraid.”  
“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Does it matter?”  
“No,” he pressed his lips to the top of her head, “I suppose it doesn’t.”

As the night went on, she slipped further into his arms, relaxing into his embrace, even laughing occasionally at whatever it was he had said. He reclined slowly, without even meaning to, warm with the effect of the wine. Both of them were drunk off of the hour, staying up far too late, sleep being made nearly impossibly by the magnitude of the storm. She lay against his chest, her words growing further apart until, eventually, she fell asleep on top of him. He stroked her hair softly, counting the seconds until the storm was far off enough that it wouldn’t wake her, and then, exhausted, fell asleep as well.


	6. The way you said “I love you” while a house burns to the ground behind us

“Are you going to throw up?”  
“I’m not going to throw up.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“I’m sure.”  
“It’s just, you kind of look like you’re going to throw up.”  
“I’m fine.”  
He stayed quiet, deferring to her judgement. He didn’t want to push her; that wasn’t what she needed right now. To be honest, he wasn’t at all sure what she did need; it had never been like this before.  
He couldn’t decide if she was his forever or if he had finally lost her. She had power now, an authority she hadn’t had before. Something changes inside of you, the first time you destroy for the sake of destruction. Sure, there were other things happening, other forces and whatnot, but in the end, that’s what it was. Destruction.   
The black sky lit up orange, the light catching on her loose hairs, making a halo of her silhouette. Ten inches of space remained between them, and still she was miles away. He wondered what she was thinking about, if it was the same depth of quiet fire had brought him. He wouldn’t be surprised; they had so much in common already.   
A fraction of the light caught against her eyes, her pallid face colored rosy by the blaze, and for a moment he forgot not to stare. Silent, she looked over at him, her unblinking gaze unearthly in its calm.   
“And it gets easier?”  
“Yeah.” The word was barely a whisper as he found himself embarrassingly mute.   
She looked away again, squinting towards the light, “It would have to, I suppose.”  
There were thousands of things he wanted to say, and none of them seemed right. How do you say “I envy the match in your hand” without burning yourself out? But god, for her sake, he could come undone entirely so long as she promised to unspool him. As she stood, straight-backed, staring at the wreckage they had created, he couldn’t help but think she was built to sit upon a throne.  
“You don’t have to do all that, you know.” The words came out harsher than he had intended. She only looked at him quizzically, letting him finish. “What I mean is, I won’t think any less of you.”  
“I wasn’t worried about that.”  
“You don’t have to be okay with it right now. It can be an acquired taste.”   
“Does it have to? Do I have to enjoy it?”  
“No, but it’ll make your life easier.” He smirked, “Definitely more fun.” She didn’t smile back, watching his expression carefully. He sighed, “It’s in your blood. You’ve got a predisposition to the addiction.”  
“Addiction?”  
“There’s something lovely about watching all your problems just,” he waved his hand loosely, “burn to a crisp.”  
“I think you overestimate your abilities.”  
“I think you just don’t know where to set your fires.”  
“Maybe you’re right.” She looked away again.   
“Of course I am.”  
The air sizzled, made him itch to look away from her. It wasn’t fear; there was no need for him to be afraid of her. No, it was awe. She was awesome in the traditional sense of the word, a goddess of discord, destruction, detritus. He was a fool to have ever thought her breakability was a weakness; there had never been a sight as beautiful as her shattering, terrible and wonderful all at once.   
“And what happens now?”  
“Now?” He shrugged. “We go back home.”   
“That’s it?”  
“Why, what did you have in mind?”  
“No, just,” she gestured out, “We pretend everything is still the same?”  
“Everything is still the same.”  
“No it’s not.” Her placid quietness was more terrifying than any outburst ever could be. For a moment, he worried he had broken her beyond repair.   
“No,” looking back to the blaze, he squinted his eyes against the light, “it’s not.” The air was heavy with the scent of smoke, thick and permeating every part of them. For a moment he fancied going up in ashes as well.   
“Will it ever be again?”  
“You’d be surprised at what you can get used to.”  
“I hardly see how one could get bored of arson.”  
“Used to is not the same as bored with, Darling.”  
“No?”  
“No. Just because I’m used to your moral knots doesn’t make them any less exasperating and entertaining.”  
“I don’t think that’s a viable problem anymore.”  
“You’ll find a way to make it one.” Glancing up and down her frame, he took in her soot-stained forearms and legs, the smudge of ash against her cheek. “Ambiguity is a good look on you.”  
Shuddering, she crossed her arms tight against her chest. He closed the distance between them, loping an arm over her shoulder casually. They watched the blaze for entirely too long, the seconds becoming eternities, only being torn away by the necessity of a clean escape.   
“Don’t get soot in my car,” he muttered, opening the door, and she actually laughed, an exhausted, breathy laugh. 

Even after the car was parked, they both sat in silence, neither of them breaking the quiet that had pervaded their space ever since they had left. And so they remained, in the dark, side by side and yet still entirely alone. Neither moved to get out of the car, the air still thick with the remnants of the smoke, tangled up in their hair and the fabric of their clothes.   
“Does it? Get easier, I mean?” Her voice cracked in the quiet. He took a moment before answering, giving it the consideration it was due.  
“Yes.”  
“Alright.” That was good enough for her. She believed him. Against her better judgement and all common sense, she believed him.   
“Violet,” he spoke quietly, trying to get her attention. She turned to look at him, actually seeing him for the first time all night. Without saying anything else, he leaned across the front seat of the car, catching her face in his hand as he kissed her.  
As she kissed him back, she thought of the box of matches still in his pocket, of the empty gas tanks and desecrated walls. She kissed him back, feeling the red pulse of her veins, the simmering heat of red matchstick tips and red-hot climbing flames. Pulling away, she caught her breath, meeting his eyes.  
“We’re okay?”  
“We’re okay. You’re okay.” He smoothed back her hair gently, “I won’t let anything happen to you.”   
“Anything other than ruining me?”  
“I’d hardly call you ruined.”  
“I’m sorry, did you miss everything that happened tonight?”  
“Believe me, I did not.” Softly, he kissed her again. “God, you’re incredible.”  
“An incredible mess; I’m more ash than person.”  
“And it is beyond delightful.” He smiled, feeling her laugh, her lips still pressed to his.  
“Alright then.”  
“You are. It is. My god, woman, given half the chance, I’d let you make me a pyre.”  
“Perhaps don’t do that.”  
“I’m only saying, if you’re damned, then I’m happily following you to hell.”  
“I think it might be the other way around.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah.”  
“You know I love you, right?”  
“I am marginally aware of the fact, yes.” But then she was deepening the kiss, holding onto him tightly. He wrapped his arms about her, holding her to himself, and she managed a shred of jealousy for the box of matches still in his pocket. “For your own part, you’re not entirely terrible.”  
“No?”  
“You’re… tolerable.”  
“Well. Aren’t you the love poet?”  
“Oh, hush.” She quieted him with another kiss, hoping it could say all the things she still didn’t have words for. Outside, the night was quiet, the fresh air light under the navy sky.


	7. The way you said “I love you” with a scream

“I don’t see why you care so much!”  
“I don’t care!” She punctuated the statement by a shove, knocking him back a step.   
“Fine, if you want to be a child about it, that’s fine.” He waved the papers in the air, equal parts exasperated and exhausted. “Pardon me for, oh, I don’t know, caring about your opinion!”  
“I don’t see why you would bother! I don’t care!”   
“Evidently!” But then she was slamming the kitchen door in his face, and even if he wanted to, he couldn’t let it drop. 

“No!” storming in, he let the door bang open, “You do NOT slam doors in my face!”  
“Since when?” Turning to face him, she stood stiff, her arms crossed. Didn’t he have sense enough to leave her alone?   
“I told you I’d take it out if it bothers you so much!”  
“I’m not bothered!”  
“You are LITERALLY only hurting yourself here!”  
“What, are you offended I’m not more jealous?”  
“Jealous? We’ve moved past jealous into enraged. Jealous would be much more reasonable! I could work with jealous!”  
“Well I’m not! You do whatever the hell you want!”  
“Oh my g- It’s just a script!”  
“A script which YOU wrote.”  
“No, not me, i-”  
“Sorry, not you, whatever fucking alias you’re using for this one!”  
“Language.” The corners of his mouth turned down, still finding the time to reprimand her. “I asked if it was going to be an issue, and if it’s not-”  
“It isn’t! I genuinely do not see why you would possibly think I’d have an issue with it.”  
“Well now you’re just overdoing it. Seriously? It’s just a play. It doesn’t mean anything.”  
“Of course it doesn’t! God, you’re so stupid!”  
“Fine, you know what? I’m keeping it in. If you’re so OBVIOUSLY unperturbed by it, then it won’t be a problem!”  
“Fine!”  
“Fine!”

They stood in silence, neither one looking at the other.  
“It’s shitty writing anyway,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear.  
“EXCUSE me?”  
“I said, it’s shitty writing! You’re a bad writer!” Her finger jabbed at his chest. He scowled, irritated beyond belief.   
“Oh, because you could do so much better?”  
“I could! Who even talks like that? God, if the audience isn’t already nauseous from watching you makeout with someone on stage, this dialogue will put them under for sure!”  
“That-” he gestured with his finger, trying to keep his anger coherent, “is uncalled for!”  
“Oh, and I’m the oversensitive one? You’re the one throwing a hissy fit over an honest critique!”  
“You’re not being honest nor fair!”  
“What can I say, maybe you’re a bad influence after all.”   
“Look,” he held his hands out in surrender, “I’ll take it out. All you have to do is say you want me to.”   
“I! Don’t! Care! I’m just trying to keep you from embarrassing yourself. It sounds like you’ve never met a woman in your life! I mean, honestly,” snatching the papers from his hand, she began to read aloud, “‘Now that I know you exist, how could I ever survive without you?’ What the hell is that? No self-respecting woman would ever say that!”  
“Maybe they would, if they weren’t so impossibly callous.”  
“Callous!”  
He shrugged, “I’m only speaking hypothetically. If you choose to take offense to that-”  
“Okay, then what about this,” she jabbed at the paper irately, “explain just what the hell this is supposed to be.”  
“It’s a love scene.”  
“It’s something, alright. ‘You tremble beneath my hand like a shivering mollusk?’ Honestly, who talks like that?”  
“Don’t be mad simply because you don’t have the soul of a poet!”  
“Oh my god,” she shook her head. “If you’re gonna exploit loopholes in our marriage, at least have the dignity to do it right!”  
“It’s a play, it doesn’t mean anything!”  
“But you wrote it!” She slammed the script down on the counter, “You sat up all night and imagined how it would feel to sleep with another woman, wrote it down, terribly, I might add, and plan on sharing it with everyone while I sit there trying very hard not to look like an idiot while you make out with some lady on stage!”  
“So it DOES bother you?”  
“Yes it bothers me!” She lifted her hands up, exasperated, “It bothers me so damn much! It bothers me that you are so much more concerned with how things look for you that I can go to hell so long as I make you look good while doing it!”  
“It’s not that deep-”  
“No, it’s not! That’s the problem. You’re so fucking vain, anything beyond an inch of depth puts you out of your league. You want to kiss women on stage? Fucking whatever. Just write something better than a Shakespearean porno opening.”   
“You think it sounds like Shakespeare?”  
“I think that you’re an incomprehensible idiot!”  
“Watch it!”  
“No, it’s okay, I’m a fucking idiot too! I should have known better than to love a man who’s more in love with his ego than me.” She slammed the papers against his chest. Catching them in his hands, he looked at her quietly. She took a shattering breath in, gritting her teeth. Feeling rather awkward, he cleared his throat.  
“Do you really think I wrote a play just to cheat on you?”  
“I don’t know. Maybe,” she shrugged, not meeting his eyes, “I’ve never pretended to understand you.”  
“No offense, but if I wanted to cheat on you, I would just do it. Do you think writing plays is easier than just kissing someone?”  
“With dialogue like that? Yes.”   
“That’s cruel.”  
“It’s true.”  
Stepping forward, he caught her face between his hands, brushing her hair back, “You’re impossible, you know.”  
“Hey, I-”  
“No, it’s okay. I like my women difficult.”  
“Not the line to use right now.”  
He laughed, amused at her irritation. “Do you really think I would be so unkind?”  
“Yes.”  
“Poor Violet, so mistreated by her unkind husband.” Still smiling, he kissed her forehead. “It would be poetic though, wouldn’t it? Using theater both to catch and leave you?”  
She scoffed, “Maybe you should write a play about that instead.”  
“Maybe.” He paused, quiet. “I can’t believe you think my play is bad.”  
“Well, it’s not IRREDEEMABLE, persay. It’s just… not good.”  
“You wound me, Countess.”   
“You deserved it.”  
“Perhaps I did.” Amused, he kissed her lips. “Although, in the future, may I recommend just admitting your infatuations? It would save us both a lot of time.”   
“Infatuation might be too strong a word.”  
“Obsession? Adoration? Passion?”  
“You’re pushing your luck.”  
“Let’s see how far it takes me then.” Smiling, he kissed her again, leaving the script forgotten behind in the light of her favor.


	8. The way you said “I love you” as a thank you + The way you said “I love you” as an apology

“I’m FINE.”  
“Nope,” she pushed at his back, trying to steer him back upstairs, “you most certainly are not.”  
“I don’t see what you’re so upset about. It’s not-” his protest was interrupted with a hacking cough.  
“It absolutely is, and I will not have you germing up my nice clean house.”  
“I’m not even sick.”  
“Then you won’t mind taking a day off anyway.”  
“I’m not-” but then she was shoving him into the bedroom, a woman determined, and he knew there was no point in arguing. “Fine. If you want to do all the work yourself, be my guest.”  
“Sounds good. Now please, try to get some sleep.”  
“If anything at all happens, you come and get me.”  
“What’s going to happen? I swear, you’re so paranoid.” Tugging off his jacket, she pushed him towards the bed.  
“Will you at least bring me food? I might as well get something out of this.”  
“Sure. Just, please. Stay put.”  
“If you insist,” he clicked his tongue, more amused than annoyed.

She didn’t become worried until it became two hours since she’d last heard from him. Usually his silence indicated some sort of nefarious plot, and now she was worried he had actually managed to sneak out. However, when she came up, food in hand, she found him pale and sweating in a shallow sleep. He awoke when she carefully set the mug on the table beside him.  
“Violet,” he whispered.  
“Yes?”  
“I’m dying.”  
“You’re not dying.” Lightly, she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. “You have a fever, but you’re not dying.”   
“I’ve been poisoned.”  
“You’ve not been poisoned.”  
“After everything, this is how it ends.”  
“Okay, actor man.” She handed him a glass of water, “Here, drink this.”  
“And so I go,” he closed his eyes, his voice low and hoarse. “Not with a bang but a whimper.”  
“Alright. I’ll go pick up some cough medicine. Try to drink that entire glass by the time I’m back. Do you want anything else?”  
“Whiskey.”  
“Not whiskey.”   
“You can’t refuse a dying man his last wish.”   
Not bothering to respond, she opened the window, letting in some fresh air, “If you’re up to it, take a cold shower. It’ll make you feel better.”  
“You’re a terrible nurse.”  
“Something tells me you’re an even worse patient.”  
“I crave the release of death.”  
“Okay, I’ll be back.” She patted his head placatingly, shutting the door quiet behind her.

He could not remember the last time he had been so horribly inconvenienced. He was a busy man; he didn’t have time to get sick. Quarantined to his own sweaty solitude, the minutes ticked into hours. Eternities flew by, dizzy and achy timeless expanses. He didn’t know it was possible for your very bones to ache.   
It had finally caught up with him; every single terrible thing he had ever done ever, and now he was paying the price. Damn her for leaving him in this state. It was as if she didn’t even care. Maybe he would die, just to show her. Then she’d be sorry. His revenge fantasy easily turned over to a daydream about her as a more sympathetic nurse, crying over his lowly state, stroking his face and remarking upon how very very brave he was. He closed his eyes, the pressure in his head pounding against his skull.   
When he opened them again, the light had moved across the walls. It took him a moment to realize he had been sleeping, for all the good it had done him; he was just as tired and groggy as before. Looking over, he saw her placing some more things on his bedside table.  
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you. How are you feeling?”  
He shrugged feebly, forcing out a weak cough.  
“Well, I’m glad to see you’ve fended off death thus far. Here, sit up,” pulling at his shoulder, she managed to get him somewhat less horizontal. “Take this.”  
“What is it?”  
“It’ll bring your fever down.” She dropped a white pill into his hand.  
“I’d much prefer a cyanide capsule.”  
“I’m sure you would.” Handing him the glass of water, she stared at him until he successfully swallowed it. “And let me get this, you’ve sweat clean through it.” She tugged at his shirt, snapping the buttons open and pulling it over his shoulders. Grateful for the cool air, he lay back down, exhausted and dizzy but mostly embarrassed at being so entirely undone.   
“I’m not helpless, you know.”  
“I’m aware.”  
“I’m still a lethal force.”  
“Of course.”  
“I can handle myself.”  
“I know.”   
He almost felt bad for being so irritable, but it was utterly beyond his control. His own body was conspiring against him. He heard her move a few more things around and then she cleared her throat quietly, touching his arm lightly.  
“Alright then. If you need anything-”  
“Wait,” he caught her wrist, holding her beside him. “Can you stay?”  
There was a moment’s pause before she responded. “Sure.” The mattress sank beside him as she perched on the edge, stroking her fingers over his hair, “Should I just be quiet, or?”  
“No, keep talking.” His voice was more mutter than speech. “It’s nice.”  
“Do you want me to read to you? I mean, I can, if you want.”  
“That depends. Do you have anything good?”  
“I absolutely do.” He heard her shuffling things around once more and then, settling gently, she began to read aloud, her free hand still stroking his hair, “Miss Adela Strangeworth stepped daintily along Main Street on her way to the grocery. The sun was shining, the air was fresh and clear after the night’s heavy rain-”  
“Wait, wait,” he stopped her, “are you sure this is good? Because it sounds like it’s gearing up to be absolutely awful.”  
“Trust me,” he could hear the smile in her voice, “it’s good.”   
“Alright. But if it’s boring, that’s on you.”

“A risk I’m willing to take.” Clearing her throat, she began again where she had left off. “Let’s see… The air was fresh and clear after the night’s heavy rain, and everything in Miss Strangeworth’s little town looked washed and bright.”  
“Violet?”  
She sighed, “It won’t get any better if you don’t let me get anywhere.”  
“No, it’s not that. I just… love you, is all.”  
Smiling, she stroked his forehead, brushing his hair back. “Feeling guilty about yelling at me?”  
“Somewhat. But mostly I just thought you should know, since this is the end and all.”  
“Oh, of course. Should I continue?”  
“Please.” Closing his eyes again, he let her carry on. 

It was well into the night by the time he awoke next. She was still beside him, her finger tucked between the pages of the book where she had left off. The silly girl had fallen asleep in her clothes. Quiet as he could manage, he sat up, pulling her shoes off for her. She stirred, groaning awake.  
“What time is it?”  
“Late.”   
Rubbing at her eyes, she sighed, “How are you feeling?”  
“Pretty terrible. I’ll survive, though.”  
“Glad to hear it. God, why is it so hot in here?”  
Smirking, he reclined again, pressing a kiss to her forehead before pausing, pulling back ever so slightly, “Violet?”  
“Yes?”  
“You might want these,” reaching over her, he guiltily handed her the bottle of pills.   
She sighed, “Perfect.”   
“I love you.”  
“I know, I know.”  
He kissed her forehead again, her flushed skin hot beneath his lips, “Anything I can do to make it up to you?”  
“Here,” smirking, she handed him the book, settling against his shoulder, “you can take a turn.”  
“Fair enough.” Leaning his cheek against the top of her head, he waited for her settle, and then as softly as he could manage, he picked up right where they had left off.


	9. The way you said “I love you” in a letter

My Treacherous Heart,

  
My Unkind Darling,

  
Mine,

  
Maybe I’m writing this too late. Maybe you’ll never read it. Or maybe you’ll read it, tear it up, and resolve to forget the whole matter. Honestly, that seems the most likely and I wouldn’t necessarily blame you, though I will be thoroughly upset if you don’t even give me the justice of reading this through to the end. Although, maybe justice is misplaced here. Maybe that’s the point.

  
I’ve only just started and already there are too many “what-if’s” for any person to stomach. God, what else could we have done differently? Because, after giving it thought, and believe me, I have given you way more thought than is due to the situation, I have come to the conclusion, that no, it was not because of something that I could have done. It was something that we should have done. And yes, I know this is not making any sense at all, but bare with me.

  
In the end, I suppose it really was inevitable. That’s strange to think, that we were always heading towards this? Like passengers in a car, unaware that while they’re worried about the bridge collapsing, a bomb is ready to go off beneath their feet. It’s a loose metaphor, but let’s be honest; nothing ever fits us.

  
I’m sorry if this becomes longer than I intended. I’ve always been very good at dancing around words I didn’t want to say, and so long as I have the incentive of your attention, I’m going to hold it. It doesn’t matter that you, more likely than not, will not care about a thing I have to say. I have plenty to say and damn it, I’m going to say it all, but first I’m going to talk circles until I am certain what I am saying is true.

That was always the heart of the matter, wasn’t it? That was always our problem. After a while, truth ceases to be the large, upstanding ideal that you were always raised to believe it was, and that’s terrifying. So no, I do not blame you for the choices you made in the shadow of such a realization. I don’t sympathize, and I certainly still believe that you’re irrefutably and irrevocably wrong, but that’s the thing about it. Most of it is based off of what it isn’t.

Maybe that’s the heart of truth; slicing away everything that isn’t. I know that as of late, that’s what I’ve become. Everything I was, thinly sliced to remove every touch of you. Sometimes I wonder if there is any part of me left. And then I think, of course there is, don’t be ridiculous. If I could ask for any parting gift, it would be a map back to who I was before you. I don’t want to be a me that exists post-you. There’s too much negative space.

  
And maybe that was also part of the problem. Preoccupation with what is and isn’t. Maybe if we had open sky and the depth of space we could have lived parallel lives, watching each other but never touching, but no. We came out of the same dirt, the same mess, tangled like weeds desperate to strangle one another for a bit more of the light. And I know you’d say that’s heavy handed, but I also know that you know it’s true. We became too good at destruction, too well-versed in our eject buttons, always desperate to be in a space that wasn’t here, wasn’t this.

  
And all of this isn’t to say that it’s anybody’s fault. I mean, it certainly is, but that’s not what this letter is for. This letter isn’t even for you, so just know that if you’re picturing me sallow and pining, you are absolutely wrong.

  
I’m not writing this for you. I’m not writing it for me either, really. I don’t know why I’m writing it, other than it needs to be written and I don’t know who else could listen. I don’t think you’ll understand because even I don’t understand, but I believe you have a better chance of understanding than anyone.

  
But what if everything had been different? I know it’s a pointless question, but it’s the one I keep getting stuck on. There are too many small things to pull apart, too many microinteractions to untangle. I find it much neater to just scrap it all and say “What if everything had been different?”

  
What if we had met somewhere else, under different circumstances, long ago? Do you think you could have loved me had we been members of a Pharaoh's court? What if we resided high upon the mountains, ages away from the nearest city? If you had met me in ancient Greece, would you love me then?

  
I cannot help but think that no matter where we met, I would not be able to stand your presence; the universe is pulling us together too tightly. I do not like the idea of loving you, but I don’t seem to have much of a choice, wherever it is history sees fit to drop us.

  
I’ve been reading more Greek tragedies lately. You would like them. So much darkness. Maybe I’m being pretentious, but it seems like we might have some things in common with them. That’s the definition of pretentious, isn’t it? Comparing ones’ selves to gods? But if anyone deserves it, Darling, we do. We’ve earned the right to become gods. We’ve earned the right to infamy, whether we want it or not. I’d like to think that we earned a happy ending, but I know us; it was never in the cards.

  
And maybe that’s why we burned out so bright; it’s no wonder we went blind. They say love is supposed to be blind, but how much worse would it be if we could see ourselves, could see what we became before it was too late? I wish I could say I never actually loved you, that I always wanted this, but it isn’t true. I loved you, as terribly dangerous as it was; as ill-planned and inadvisable, I loved you. I’d like to think that this letter isn’t of any comfort, that no matter how bad we became, you didn’t like it any better than I did. But then again, maybe you like knowing that I was hurt. Maybe it’s better if no one is blameless. The worst thing, I think, would to be able to point fingers, to say “Here; this is where it unraveled. This is where it hurts.” But us? We were born frayed. We couldn’t have stopped it even if we wanted to. (Did you want to? Sometimes it was hard to tell.)

  
If you haven’t burned this letter yet, I only began it because I wanted to apologize, but exclusively for the things I shouldn’t apologize for. I’d hate to ruin my track record. So this is a blanket apology for every single time I poured your wine, touched your hand, shared the blankets at night. I’m sorry I became a person who could love you; I never meant to do it. Believe me.

  
I hope this finds you well enough. Please don’t write back.

  
Please.


	10. The way you said “I love you” when baking chocolate chip cookies

“No, you actually have to measure it!”  
“It’s fine.” He threw the pile of brown sugar into the bowl.   
“Oh my god.” She leaned back, a hand covering her mouth. “You are. SO bad at this.”   
“Shhhhhhhhh,” he shushed her, waving an arm in her general direction. “You’re bad at it.”  
“I absolutely am not.” She refilled her wine glass, almost missing altogether.  
“Yes you are. You never do it right.”  
“Yes I do! Cooking is just like science. I’m good at it.”  
“You’re good at cooking,” straightening up, he faced her, “absolute SHIT at baking though.”  
“Fine then. I am NOT helping!” On her third try, she managed to jump up and sit on the counter.  
“Well, are you ready to have your mind absolutely blown?” He finished off his own glass, quickly replenishing it from the open bottle.   
“By your baking?”  
“Yes!”  
“Absolutely. I cannot wait.”

Elated and buzzed, she swung her legs back and forth, watching his best efforts at measuring.   
“We should add wine to the mix!”  
“No,” she shook her head, “it’ll cook out. No good.”   
“Clever girl. I like that.” He gestured towards her with a spoon and she laughed again, amused by the slight stumble in his stance.  
“Are you almost done?”   
“Quiet! I am concentrating on mixing!”  
“It looks lumpy.”  
“It’s supposed to look like that.”  
“Nothing I have made has ever looked like that.”  
“Because you make it wrong!”  
“These are going to be so strange. I can’t wait.”   
“Prepare to have your tastebuds MYSTIFIED!”   
“That… might actually be accurate.  
“Mixing is harder than I thought it would be.”  
“Here, let me try.” Taking the bowl from him, she began to stir in uneven circles. “Oh my god, mixing this is awful.”   
“I told you!”  
“Okay, hear me out,” looking up at him purposefully, she tried to hold his stare. “What if we made it like bread?”  
“Pardon?”  
“What if. Instead of using a spoon. We kneaded it?”  
“I will pay actual money to watch you try to knead dough.”  
“Then get ready to pay up.” Hesitantly, she began to push her way down from the counter. Catching an arm around her waist, he helped her, making sure she didn’t drop the bowl. Handing it off to him, she washed her hands twice in the sink, drying them on a clean towel. 

“Okay, are you ready?”  
“I am so ready for this.” Leaning back, he took a drink from his glass. After a moment of thought, she pressed both hands into the mixture, mixing it as best she could.  
“Wow, you really did a number on this.”  
“Wait, wait! Freeze, right there.” He held his hands out, gesturing for her to stop.  
“Why? What’s wrong?”  
“Shh shh shh,” he kept his finger up, staring at her intently in an elongated silence. “Okay, got it.”  
“What are you doing?”   
“Commiting the image to memory.”  
“Oh my god, you jerk,” smirking, she lobbed a bit of dough at him.   
“Hey!” He stepped back, “Don’t ruin the suit. It’s new.”   
“So you wore it baking?”  
“I didn’t exactly PLAN for my evening to end up here.”   
“Well, you know what they say about the best laid plans.”  
“No, what do they say?”  
Pausing, she stared down at the bowl vacantly. “I… don’t remember.”   
A heavy silence lingered in the air until, unable to contain it, he burst into laughter. Looking rather surprised, she began to laugh too. “Look what you’ve done to me! Look! I have dough on my hands and I can’t remember quotes!” She held up her hands for him to inspect more closely.  
“Truly no one has ever sank so low.”   
“No,” she smirked, holding her hands close to herself as he leaned in to kiss her, his fingers leaving a smudge of flour on her cheek.


	11. The way you said “I love you” as a whisper in the ear

Curling over her waist, his hand tightened against her hip, pulling her to himself. She didn’t mind, of course--it was more of an annoyance than anything; just another way for him to prolong whatever it was she was trying to get done.   
“You need something?”  
“Always,” he smirked, keeping her tight to his side, no doubt trying to show off again. He never got tired of it, never stopped. He was ridiculous, really. Imperceptibly lightly, his fingers brushed at her, pressing into her side one by one.   
The party, if you could call it that, had been going on for awhile, and everyone was already plenty drunk. He himself was surprisingly sober, only having finished half a bottle of wine, which he now placed down on the table, falling back into his chair. Ployingly, he tugged at her, pulling her along with him.  
“Doing alright?” she let him maneuver her, balancing lightly against his leg.  
“Quite.” Taking her hand, he kissed the back of it, once more wrapping his arm about her waist, letting his hand rest against her upper thigh. Doing a very good impression of a man distracted by his guests, he looked off, discreetly pulling her further into his lap under the guise of balance. 

“Feeling affectionate, are we?”   
He didn’t have to look at her face to know that behind the glass she was using as cover, she was smirking.  
“I hardly think I can be accused of such things.”  
“Something else then?”  
“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about.” His words were a murmur as he slid a hand up her thigh, pressing it to her stomach, leaning her back against him until she was pressed flat to his chest. Neither looked directly towards the other as they spoke, their words coming out low, under their breath.

“Not at all. I’m just trying to enjoy a nice evening with company.” The dulcet whisper of his voice against the side of her face sent shivers down her back.  
“Well, aren’t you the good host.”  
“I would be better if it weren’t for all the distractions.”  
“Distractions?”  
“Of course. Have you seen what the hostess is wearing?”  
“It was a gift from you, idiot.”  
“Exactly.” Innocently, he brushed at the edge of her skirt as if to remove a speck of dust, instead succeeding in running his fingers along the length of her leg. Only the slightest twitch of her hand betrayed her nerves, causing him to smile. Sighing nonchalantly, he brought his hand to rest on her thigh as if he only happened to let it land there. Equally casually, she brushed her fingers against the back of his neck, causing static to run down his spine.  
“Maybe you should have thought of that.”  
“I did. It wasn’t a very good plan, I suppose.”  
“That’s too bad. You’re usually so good at those.”  
“Plans?”  
“Yes. Speaking of which, is there anything left for tonight, or am I more or less excused from my hostess duties?”  
“Yes and no. No, there’s nothing left, but also, no, we’re not quite done for the evening.”  
“Oh? What do you have in mind?”  
“I was thinking we let them finish drinking themselves into a stupor,” his fingers pressed against her leg ever so slightly as he kissed the side of her head, “and then you let me lay you out and make you see god.”  
“That’s a bit pretentious, don’t you think?”  
“Not if it’s true.”  
She laughed, a quiet hum of a laugh, tilting her head back so that he could better hear her, “And what if I don’t want to be laid out?”  
“Pardon?”  
“What if I have a different plan?”  
“You are speaking to the planning expert of course, but I’ll humor you. What were you thinking?”  
“We finish the bottle of wine, let them leave, and then,” she tilted her head to the side, her eyes low and dark, “you get me out of this dress, get flat on your back, and we see how long it takes before you’re yelling my name.”  
Hiding a toothy smile by planting a kiss beneath her ear, he hummed contemplatively, “Not bad. Want to bet I can get you blaspheming before you get me to say your name?”  
“You’re on.”  
“I look forward to it. My favorite sort of challenge; one I can’t lose.”  
“Are you really so cocky?”  
“Even in the unlikely event that I do not win, I must say,” he nipped at her quickly, carefully, “you’re one hell of a consolation prize.”

“You’re ridiculous.”  
“And oh-so in love with you.” Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to her jaw, his words rough in her ear, “Dangerously in love with you.”  
“Alright then.” She could hear that the pitch of her voice was just a bit too strained, comically pinched, and yet there was nothing she could do about it.  
“Madly and stupidly and ridiculously in love with you.” A smirk was buried in his tone, his lips warm against her neck, whispering the words in a low rumble that even she could just barely hear.   
“Okay, okay. Save some for later.”  
“Clever Violet. My lethal weapon of a wife.”  
“Watch yourself; you’re going to make a scene. And if they don’t, I will.”  
“It’s alright, they all think we’re drunk.” As if to prove his point, he plucked the bottle from the table, taking a swig with a shrug. She smiled, finally looking at him, taking the still somewhat-full bottle from his hands.  
“Cheers, then. Here’s to always winning.”  
“Now that is a toast, and hostess, I can get behind.”   
She rolled her eyes but took the drink anyway, even letting him kiss her in front of his men afterwards, not particularly caring about anything that wasn’t the stain of the wine on his lips or the pressure of his hand against her thigh as he held her, secure and certain and perhaps only the slightest bit drunk after all.


	12. The way you said “I love you” on a post-it note

After a while she had stopped finding and reminding him, deciding he was adult enough to handle his own affairs. Thus, when he went to the cabinet to grab a bottle, he instead had found a yellow note in its place, folded neatly in half to stand up upon the shelf. “All out—send someone for some more.” The next day he had left two new bottles upon the counter for her to put away, and thus the system was born. It really was helpful; he had a habit of distracting her so that by the time she remembered what it was she had to tell him, it was much too late and generally more of a hassle. Even when she managed to remember, he’d often forget, becoming needlessly irritated, even more so than usual. It was a simple idea, and it worked well.   
The only issue came about when, needed to give her reminders, he found he didn’t have as easy a place to put them. Occasionally she’d find them on the bathroom mirror, sometimes in her workroom, once in the coffee pot. He’d stack them over her favorite wines, inside her drawers, on her pillow. The amount of effort he put into it almost defeated the purpose, but so long as he wasn’t complaining, she certainly had no reason too.  
His notes had also started simple, (“Bad. Do not buy again,” “Torn. Needs mending,” “Blood stain on favorite shirt. Please remove”) but over time they escalated into more vague rambling snippets, as if she didn’t hear enough of his thoughts as is. She’d find papers everywhere, bookmarks of his thoughts; “Don’t wear the green dress tonight. Worked too well last time,” “My clothes go in my closet, thief,” or, her personal favorite, “If you get another library late fee I will sell you to them.” It was almost overwhelming, realizing how many times he thought about her during the day. Even as the system became habit and both of them ceased thinking about it, she still enjoyed finding them, never knowing what it would be. Some of them were more subtle than others (“Wear less black” versus “Only wear the red dress if you plan on having enough time to be thoroughly ravished beforehand”) but all were undeniably him. They were quick, to the point, never taking more than a fragment or two to say what they had to.   
Her own notes followed suit, the occasional thought or opinion interjecting her reminders (“You have to EARN the red dress. Restock the wine for tonight,” “Fixed your shirt. You should wear this more often if you don’t want me to take it.”) More than once she’d simply replied directly on his note, should the request be simple or ridiculous enough.   
When they talked, neither of them mentioned them, as if the notes were a separate conversation all to themselves. She began using them as bookmarks, particularly the one telling her off for having spent so much time reading as of late, but other than that she either tossed them or let the particularly funny ones clutter up her drawer. She wasn’t sure what he did with hers, but they were never around for longer than it took him to find them.

Cleaning the bedroom was a far more intimidating task than it ought to be. She knew he kept things tucked away, but mostly it was a clutter of space-wasters, stacks of books, half-forgotten clothes. By the time she got to under the bed, she had already found five knives and three of her sweaters, all of which he had particularly disliked, which he had sworn had gone missing. The bastard. Peering under the bed she found an unexpected amount of socks, too many papers for one person to reasonable read through, and perhaps countless boxes. Slowly, she began pulling things out, checking them over briefly enough to figure out where they go. Pulling the lid off the first box, she found a collection of cardboard matches from various locations. The second held a pair of shoes he had bought her which she had refused to wear. It was the third box which surprised her, though. I’m the third box was seemingly every note she had ever written. She, mocking his penchant for signing his notes with a dotted O, had begun to replicate his signature, drawing an off-kilter dotted V. Almost every single note was signed, making them unmistakably hers. The bastard man had actually kept them. Sure, she had kept his, but his were unwittingly funny; there was no real reason to hold onto her reminders and bribes. Shuffling through them some more, she caught herself smiling, grinning stupidly. Shutting the box, she shoved it back beneath the bed, choosing to leave it alone. The man was so vain; he’d probably die if he knew he had gotten caught.   
She was still smiling as she finished the rest of her work for the day, still stupidly glad. Even as the day wore into night, she carried a small happiness inside of her, making her light enough to leave a note upon the bathroom mirror as he took his shower, telling him to come back downstairs immediately, where she would be waiting for him with a fresh bottle of wine and a very red dress.


	13. The way you said “I love you” while we fought in the car

“Seriously, what the FUCK is wrong with you?”  
“Nothing is wrong, I’m fine.” She stared out the window, arms crossed tightly.  
“No, seriously. What the actual FUCK was that about?”  
“So you you can drive after all, huh? Consider me surprised.”  
“Don’t change the subject!”  
“Am I wrong, though? Name the last time you drove.”  
“This isn’t about me! I am not what we are discussing.”  
“Maybe if we’re lucky you’ll crash.”  
“Pardon?”   
“I didn’t say anything. Just leave me alone!”  
“Okay, you know what?” Turning all too sharply, he pulled off the road.  
“You can’t stop here!”  
“Genuinely, what the actual HELL were you thinking?” She clicked her tongue, turning away from him. “Hey! We are not leaving until you answer the damn question!”  
“Oh, because I’M the one who-”  
“NO. No. Listen! I am asking, nay, BEGGING you to at least TRY to explain what the hell you were doing, because for the life of me I cannot figure it out!”  
“What does it matter? Nothing bad happened, I’m fine!”  
“Damnit, Violet!” He slammed his hands against the steering wheel, pulling her out of her sulking reverie. His knuckles were white as he stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched. “Answer the damn question!”

“I just had some things I needed to take care of.” Her voice was so small. For the first time since he’d gotten her into the car, she let slip just how afraid she was. Good. She should be afraid. The girl was a damn idiot.  
“What things?” He forced the words out, desperately trying as hard as he could to keep his tone even.   
She fidgeted in his periphery, “Just… Stuff. Things.”  
“Stuff?” He couldn’t hide the incredulous anger from his voice. “Stuff? You wandered nearly thirty miles for STUFF?”   
“I didn’t wander, I took a cab.”  
“Oh thank GOD! You didn’t walk, you were in a car with a stranger! And to think, I was worried over nothing!”  
“That’s how cabs work,” she muttered. He elected to ignore her snark.  
“What was so goddamn important that you had to sneak away and couldn’t tell me? Hmm? What was so incredibly enticing?”  
“I’m an adult, you know!”  
“Then fucking act like one!” For the first time since he’d picked her up, they made eye contact. The anger he saw in her expression was chilling, making ice of his marrow.   
“It’s none of your business! I didn’t ask you to come along!”  
“You’re right. You weren’t even that fucking smart! Luckily, I am a very clever man and managed to come get you anyway. You’re welcome!”  
“I didn’t want you to chase after me!”  
“Well, it’s too fucking late now, isn’t it?”  
“Why can’t you just leave me alone?”  
“Why can’t you take some goddamn responsibility and at least BEGIN to explain yourself?”   
The silence was steely, heavy and oppressive. Crossing her arms, she glared out the window again. Sensing this was going nowhere, and really just wanting to be home, he started the engine again, pulling back onto the road.  
They rode in silence for a while before she finally shattered the quiet with another angry mutter, “You should have just left me.”   
“You shouldn't have run away.”  
“I would have come back.”  
“Would you?”  
He had meant the statement solely as a barbing act of cruelty, but got more than he bargained for when instead of shouting back, she fell to a guilty silence. 

“Oh my god.” She could see his eyes widen, his countenance more offended than anything, but then the emotion quickly dissolved into a muted hurt that was somehow worse.  
“I didn’t say-”  
“Yeah, okay.”   
“I didn’t mean-”  
“Yes you did.”  
“You’re jumping to conclusions!”  
“Okay.” He didn’t resist, didn’t push back. His resignation was infinitely worse, stinging in the worst of ways, and even more horrid, she actually cared.   
“Wait, just listen!”  
“Okay. I’m listening.” He continues to stare straight ahead, only acknowledging her through his words.   
“I…” she faltered, not having expected compliance. “I don’t actually have anything to say.”  
“Okay then.” He shrugged nonchalantly.   
“This wasn’t what I was planning, you know!”  
“What were you planning?” His cool cadence burned at her skin.  
“I don’t know.” The words seemed so silly, but they were true.  
“You don’t know?” He cocked his eyebrow, still keeping his eyes on the road. “You were going to run away without a plan?”  
“I wasn’t running away! I was only going to be gone as long as I had to!”  
“I see.”  
“No, you don’t!”   
“No, I do. It’s fine.” Making a left, he pulled sharply into a parking lot, stopping the car. “You could have at least been smart about it. Train station, one block that way,” he gestured. “Hell of a lot safer for unaccompanied women.”   
Surprising even herself, she hesitated. It wasn’t like she had wanted to go so much as she had needed to. She hadn’t been ready to burn this bridge, but now he was handing her the gasoline.   
“You want me to go?”  
“I would like to not have to worry about you getting murdered because you were stupid enough to hitchhike.”   
“That wasn’t the question.”  
“Why bother asking? This isn’t about me.”  
“Fine then.”  
“Fine.” 

They sat in silence, both staring straight ahead, neither one willing to make the first move. Taking in a deep breath, she spoke in a shaky voice, “If you don’t care, why bother coming after me?”  
“I never said I didn’t care. I just said I’d prefer it if you died at the hands of something other than your own stupidity.”  
“Then I’ll go.”  
“If that’s what you want.”  
She fidgeted with her fingers, twisting at them, “I only meant to get a few answers.”  
“And then what? Were you ever going to tell me what happened, or was it more of a later dramatic reveal sort of scenario?”   
“Neither. I just wanted answers.”  
“To what questions?”  
“Does it matter?”  
“Depends on the questions.”  
Once again they lapsed into awkward silence, neither one daring to look at the other.   
“You’re mad at me.”  
“I’m not mad at you,” he sighed.  
“That’s a lie.”  
“Yeah, well. Me being pissed won’t help right now.”  
“Can’t it?”  
“Pardon?”  
“I don’t know, don’t you think that maybe you should be a little more upset? Not dropping me off at train stations?”  
“I know you well enough to know that you’re unstoppable. If you want to leave, you will.”  
She hesitated, a hand on the door handle, “You making it so easy is almost offensive.”  
“Sorry for hurting your feelings, Darling.” Glancing at the floor, he frowned, “Wait, where are your bags?”  
“Bags?”  
“Everything you’re bringing with you?”  
“I don’t have anything.”  
“You don’t-” now he did turn to face her, incredulous. “You don’t have anything?”  
“No. I wouldn’t need it.”  
“Oh my g- You are just. Fucking unbelievable.” Stunned, he found himself on the verge of laughter, “Wait. Just. Let me make sure I’ve got this right. You were going to leave, with nothing, to potentially get some vague answers about questions you’re not even sure of, over an undetermined period of time?”  
“Yes.”  
“And what would you do if it all went horribly wrong?”  
She shrugged, looking down, “I’d call you, probably.”  
“Oh, yes? You think that’d go over well?”   
“I mean…” she gestured out at the car.  
“Regardless, I just. I can’t believe you. God, Violet you’re so…”

For a terrifying moment she thought he might actually cry as he brought his hands to his face, shaking shoulders pulled in. However, after half a second, she realized he was laughing.  
Rubbing at his face, he sighed, “Alright. Your jailbreak can wait until later. If you’re running away from home, you going to do it right. Let’s get you packed.” Putting the car back in drive, he pulled out from the lot, back onto the road.   
“Then that’s it?” She looked at him, incredulous, “You really don’t care?”  
“Who said I didn’t care?”   
“You all but shoved me out of the car! It’s like you wanted me to go!”  
“I’m not as heuristic as you might think.”  
“Please, you practically kicked me out! I’m surprised you even bothered stopping!”  
“Did you ever see me unlock the doors?”   
She paused, thinking it over. “Well that doesn’t prove anything.”  
“You’re right, it doesn’t.” Sighing he glanced over at her quickly, smoothing his hair back with his hand as he looked back to the road. She looked out the passenger window, feeling impossibly lonely and incredibly stupid. Tears pricked at her eyes. Irritated, she swiped at them with the back of her hand, resenting the weakness.   
With a sigh, he reached out, catching her hand in his own. Without looking away from the street, he brought her hand to his lips, kissing it softly.  
“It’s okay. You didn’t get hurt. Everyone’s fine.”  
“Yeah, but-”  
“Later. That can be a problem for later. Right now let’s just get home.”  
She thought it over quietly, “Okay.”  
“Alright,” he kissed the back of her hand again, a sad smile playing over his lips. “God, I’m tired. You must be exhausted.”  
“A bit.”  
“Any chance I can convince you to save the running away for tomorrow? It’ll be easier with a good night’s sleep.”  
“Tomorrow morning?”  
“Morning’s no good for me. How about late afternoon?”   
“Isn’t tomorrow your dinner?”  
“And?” He cocked his eyebrow.  
She hesitated, looking away self-consciously, “So long as I’m staying late, I might as well stay for that. You could use the help.”   
“Alright,” he smirked, but to his credit, said nothing further on the subject. “Wednesday then?”  
“Probably.”  
He nodded at her solemn pronunciation, “Okay. Although, would you mind if I had one of the women shadow you in the kitchen? You’ve got a few recipes I don’t want to lose.”  
“Are you serious?”  
“Of course I’m serious,” he shrugged. “If it’s too much-”  
“No, I can do that. That’s… fine.” There was a quiet note of disappointment in her voice.   
“Also,” he glanced over at her, “I know it’s late and all, but I did make dinner reservations for us on Thursday.”  
“Dinner reservations?”  
“By that I mean I bought a particularly large bottle of wine and a few candles. But if you’re already going to be gone-”  
“No, I-” she cleared her throat, “I can stay for that. I’ll just leave whenever it’s convenient, I guess.”  
“Alright,” he kissed her hand again, holding her finger tight in his own. “We can figure it out later. There’s plenty of time still.”

They rode in silence for a while longer as she sat, consumed in thought.   
“Not to bring up a touchy subject,” he hesitated, unsure, “but once you leave, it’s not considered ‘cheating,’ is it?”  
“Excuse me?” She whipped her head around to look at him, lifting her chin from where it had rested on her hand. The facade of nonchalance was broken as her indignant voice betrayed her, causing him to finally break into a barely-restrained smirk. “Oh, you jerk.” She hit his arm with the back of his hand. He laughed then, catching her hand again, tangling his fingers between hers.   
“Oh come now. Surely you can’t be so surprised.”  
“You’re not funny!”  
“I know, I know. Poor Violet, tortured by her cruel husband. No wonder you’re running off.”   
“That’s not-” she stopped, realizing it wasn’t worth trying to explain. “Oh, never mind.”  
“For someone trying to leave me, you sure reacted quickly.”  
“I was simply worried for the next woman.”  
“Oh, of course.”  
“She’d be put through hell at your hands.”  
“I am known for my hellish hands,” he shrugged, still holding onto her.  
“Yeah, well. Make sure you’re at least upfront about how much trouble you are. You’re impossible to keep.”  
“Oh, but I’m just so endearing and handsome.”  
“Oh my god.”  
“The best things in life cause trouble, isn’t that so?”  
“I’d have to disagree.”  
“Then why are you so much work?”   
“I don’t need to be saved, you know.”  
“I know. I just like doing it.”  
“Any sensible person wouldn’t have come.”  
“Oh, great: I can’t even love sensibly enough for you.”  
Their smiling laughter faded into quiet introspection. She turned back to the window, resting her chin upon her hand once again. Fighting the urge to watch her, he simply placed his own hand upon her knee, reassuring himself that, at least in this moment, she was still here.


	14. The way you said “I love you,” but not to me

They fought almost as much as they drank. The two events, incidentally, also tended to coincide, one feeding the other until it was all a mess she couldn’t do anything about. It wasn’t surprising, really; get any group large and monstrous enough and they’ll step on each other’s toes eventually. Still. Just because it was understandable didn’t mean she had to like it. It was absolute hell for her when they fought, loud and indescribably messy, a menagerie of ill-thought words and misplaced threats. What she really wanted was to find a dark room somewhere, cover her ears with her hands, and sit very very still until it all went away. Unfortunately, that would only prolong the hell, as she would undoubtedly find herself dragged out and chastised for her disappearance. Such things were unavoidable.  
This time it had been one of the women who got sore. Violet didn’t know what exactly she was upset about, but it hardly mattered; they were all so easily offended, too wrapped up in their own egos. He had snapped his fingers to her, barely looking up as he indicated the empty bottle before him, and so against her better judgement, she now headed back into the lion’s den of inequity, liquor in hand.   
He didn’t acknowledge Violet as he took the bottle from her hands, lacing an arm around the shrill woman, pressing it to her, “Come, now. It isn’t at all what you think.”  
“I just don’t see how you could possibly give the role to her, after everything we went through last time-”  
“Don’t think of it like that. You’re practically the star. Come on, you know we can’t do it without you. None of the men will be convincing enough.”   
Sulkily, she crossed her arms. Violet turned to leave, but without looking, he reached out, pressing a cold hand to her shoulder, “You didn’t bring glasses.”  
“You didn’t ask.” Slowly, he turned to look at her, and she rather wished he hadn’t. Rolling her shoulder out of his grip, she looked away, muttering that she’d be back. He smiled, a false toothy smile that dug into her gut.   
They had fought before; that wasn’t so unusual. Sometimes it was cruel, but it was never too bad, often settled with half-done apologies and some sort of unhappy compromise. But this? This was insurmountable. She was honestly surprised he hadn’t just killed her. Evidently, it was what she would have done. The torture of waiting was almost worse, though. It crawled under her skin, kept her awake at night as she stared at the ceiling, trying very hard not to think about the fact that he was only a few steps away, no doubt not thinking of her at all. Or perhaps he was. She wasn’t sure which was worse.   
When she returned with the glasses, he snatched them from her hands without a glance, handing one to the still sulking woman.  
“Don’t be like that,” pausing, he leaned back towards the table, effectively blocking Violet’s only exit. “You know you’re my favorite.”  
“Favorite?” The woman’s eyes lit up.  
“You’re my best girl. You know I love you.”   
It was senseless, but damnit if his words weren’t a knife slicing down her sinews, leaving her a gaping fish dangled bloodily for his own pleasure. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and she knew he had seen the compulsive look of pain on her face from the way he smiled again at the woman.   
“Oh god, fine! You know I can refuse you nothing.” The woman smiled as well, loping her hands behind his neck. He caught her waist, thoroughly satisfied.  
“And you know I would never ask you to.”  
Not caring about manners anymore, Violet ducked her head down, trying to squeeze past unnoticed. The last thing she wanted was for him to see her cry. She wouldn’t give him that. She had no reason to cry after all; it didn’t matter, couldn’t matter.   
Forsaking her better judgement she glanced back just in time to catch the tableau of the woman laughing at something he had said as he reclined against the table, the picture of a relaxed host, smirking carelessly. He lifted his eyes only long enough to know she was watching, and then, gently, tucked a strand of hair behind the woman’s ear.   
Thoroughly eviscerated, Violet made her way to the kitchen, her ringing ears filled with the sound of her own chest breaking, pumping blood rushing to fill the empty space left behind.


	15. The way you said “I love you” in awe, the first time you realized it

He was not an easy person to share a bed with. He took up too much space, stole away the blankets, and more often than not, ended up somehow on top of her. He was irritating at best, impossible at worst, and through it all she had to live with the knowledge that this was him on his best behavior. When he was unconscious, he couldn’t be terrible, and yet he still found ways to annoy her. It was perfectly maddening.   
After waking up amid a tangle of lanky arms and legs, she’d managed to wriggle her way out to the bathroom, only to come back and find that he’d claimed her spot in her vacancy. Sighing, she precariously climbed back in, shoving at him lightly to get him to move. However, rather than just scoot over, he instead rolled over, slinging an arm about her, trapping her at the edge of the mattress.   
“Are you serious?” she muttered, still shoving at him. The man was a damn sea anemone. Trying a bit harder, she slid her fingers beneath him, trying to roll him the other direction. That plan, however, quickly fell through as he simply sighed in his sleep, using the arm holding her to pull her to his chest. When did he become so strong, she wondered, fighting his grasp. There was no way a man this lanky should have such a strong grip.   
Exhausted, she decided to simply take his side. First, however, she’d need to escape his grasp once again. Not particularly caring anymore if she woke him or not, she tugged her way out in a huff, circling the bed to his side. He didn’t move as she laid down, still soundly out. She stared at him for awhile, trying to figure out what the hell could knock any person out so hard, before giving up and rolling onto her side.   
There were a few minutes of peace and then she heard him moving, fumbling. Sighing, she looked over just to see what he was doing. Half awake, he patted the empty bed beside him, glancing around.  
“Over here,” she smirked despite herself when, nodding, he turned to his other side, lacing an arm over her waist, tugging her to himself. With a tired sigh, he kissed the top of her head before falling asleep again. His face still in her hair, he twitched, tightening his grip around her waist.  
“Love you too, but I can’t breathe,” she reprimanded his sleeping form before pausing with a jolt. Slowly, she pulled back far enough to see his face. He remained fast asleep, still holding her in a vice-grip. Frozen, she traced over his features, the dart of his eyes, slight downturn of his lips. Gently, she kissed his cheek, her insides bursting with panicky fear. Her heart racing, she lay back down, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell she could do about this new problem. He muttered something in his sleep, his lips brushing against her temple, arm still tight over her stomach.   
“I love you too,” she whispered quietly, addressing the dark room, “but I can’t breathe.”   
She doubted there was room left inside her for breath. He was more irritant than person, impossible and noisy and messy and aggravating and horrible and so very, very gentle in sleep. Closing her eyes, she tried to match her breathing to his, felt the weight of his hand against her side, the soft brush of his lips against her temple, the seam of warmth wherever his body touched hers. He radiated impossibility, was built up of the very concept of her own inabilities. They were completely and utterly incompatible; they cancelled each other out. Hardly daring to move, she rested her cold hand upon his arm, feeling the incandescent heat of his body. He didn’t pull away, didn’t even stir.   
She had often heard the description of love as being a breathless thing. She hadn’t thought they meant this, this wind-knocked-out, living, crawling thing that had invaded her body. This love was a parasite. She turned to look at him again, his sleeping, innocuous form, incapabable of harm so long as he didn’t wake. Lying flat on her back, she looked back to the ceiling, wondering how she would ever learn to live with this.  
Uncharacteristically gentle (or, what is characteristically? He couldn’t calculate while asleep) he continued to hold her, neverminding every way in which she was now damned. She closed her eyes, forcing air into her lungs until her chest swelled and burned. This was a love she would suffocate on. There was no other way.


	16. The way you said “I love you” while we made out in the car

“This is so juvenile.”  
“If you want to stop, we can.”  
“No, I just thought someone should address it,” she just barely got the words out, her mouth pressed against his. Smiling contentedly, he resumed kissing her, glad and warm and overzealous. His tongue slipped between her lips, pressed against her teeth. Circling his arms behind her, he tried to pull her closer to himself. “Wait, here,” she pulled back, breathless, trying unsuccessfully to shift her leg. “No, wait, you need to lean forward.”  
“Like this?” He shifted forward on the seat.  
“Yeah, perfect,” she stretched her leg behind him, catching him effectively between her thighs. Sitting up, he smacked his head on the roof, causing her to laugh.  
“Oh, fuck- Sorry, it’s not funny- Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” Luckily, the only thing injured was his pride. Unsuccessfully, he tried to swavely lean forward to kiss her again, succeeding instead in only awkwardly leering over her. “Can you scoot down?”  
“Yeah, just-” her head rested awkwardly against the side of the car, craning her neck at a weird angle. “Nope. This is no good.”   
“Fuck it. Just get in my lap.”  
“So direct,” she lifted her knees, letting him slide his legs beneath hers until he was firmly situated between her thighs, her back pressed to the window. “I like it.”  
“What can I say? I’m a man who knows what he wants.”  
“Yes, but it usually takes you so much longer to say it.”  
He frowned, but then she was kissing him and it was alright. She could say whatever she wanted so long as she kept kissing him.  
Slowly, he ran his hands up her thighs, tucking them beneath her skirt. She sighed happily, lacing her arms behind his neck, pulling him closer. Complying, he tugged at her hips, kissing along her throat. Whimpering, she caught her lip between her teeth as his fingers wandered to her inner thigh, teasing her in small, gentle circles.  
“Shit,” she whispered, her breathless voice pooling warm within him.  
“Language. My god, who taught you to speak like that? You’re supposed to be a good girl.”  
“Yeah, okay, alright. You can call me ‘good’ all you want, so long as you keep kissing me like I’m not.”   
“Fair trade.” He smirked, nipping at the skin along her jaw. She whined again, her hips pressing upwards into his touch. Taking pity, he slid his fingers against her over her underwear.  
“Shit, Olaf!” Sitting up, she grabbed his face, pulling him back.   
“Not okay?”  
“Too okay. Much too okay.” Her face was flushed as she craned her neck, looking out the window. “What if someone sees?”  
“Let them watch.”  
“I’m serious!”  
“You’re adorable when scared.” Pulling her tight to himself, he kissed her again.   
“You’re getting carried away.”  
“What can I say? I’m a man with ambition.”   
“Is that what they’re calling it now?”  
“Watch your tone,” kissing her mouth, he pushed his tongue to her teeth, elated when she opened her lips for him. She folded into his touch, gently pushing back, still cautiously guarded. He brushed his hand over her thigh again, tucking it beneath her skirt, between her legs.  
“Olaf!” her voice was a nervous whisper.  
“Let me worry about all that. We’re just two people, having a conversation. Totally innocent.” He tucked his fingers beneath her underwear, feeling her grip tighten against his neck, her face pressing to his. “Here, can you scoot back?”

She slid back on the bench seat, still holding firm to him, letting his try to maneuver himself better.   
“Damn you and your short legs. You make this look easy.”  
“Here, just move your knees-” She slid her own legs to the side, refusing to let go of him as he shifted, trying to move her further up.   
“When did they start making cars so small?”  
“Maybe you’re the problem here.”  
“I am never the problem.” Muttering the words, he began kissing her again, pressing his fingers beneath the hem of her panties. “There we go, much better.”  
Her toes curled as she tightened her grip, gasping as he slid his fingers against her, “If we get caught, I’m killing you.”  
“A risk I’ll take.” Slowly, he rubbed at her, brushing his fingers over her clit just softly enough to drive her mad.   
“Shit- Oh my god!”  
“See? I told you,” he kissed the side of her face, his voice low and dulcet, “totally innocent.”  
“Are you so sure?” Her voice was more breath than words.  
“Oh, please. Would a nice lady like the noble Violet ever let a bad man touch her in the back of a car? It’s ridiculous, unthinkable.” As he spoke, he slid a finger inside her, earning another gasp. Smirking, he nipped at her neck. “Completely preposterous. She’s a good girl; she’d never do that.”  
“Come back and kiss me,” she pulled his face back towards hers.  
“So forward,” he murmured against her lips, still smiling. “How uncouth.”  
“Yes, I get it, just-” she gasped again, arching down against him as he slipped another finger inside her, quickening his pace.

Taking advantage of her open mouth, he pressed his tongue between her teeth, feeling the whine that escaped her as she balled his shirt between her fingers.   
“God, you’re adorable,” he pulled back just long enough to catch his breath, and then he was kissing her again, feeling her tongue against his, the way her thighs pressed to his hand, her tense legs tight to his side. “Pretty little Violet, virtuous and disastrous and completely mine.”   
“If you don’t stop, I’ll-” he never got to find out what she would do, her own hand covering her mouth, trying to muffle the encroaching groan. Her teeth bit into her finger as she moaned, stifling the sound.   
“There’s my good girl. God, I love you.” Pulling her hand away, he kissed her lips, loving the way she melted into his touch, letting him move her. Her knees pressed to his ribs, cramped and oddly positioned, but just as urgent and lovely as ever. Pulling his hand away, he kissed her gently, listening gleefully to the sound of her trying to catch her breath.

“See?” He cocked his eyebrow, smug, “We didn’t get caught.”   
“You’re terrible,” she muttered, exhausted.   
“And you’re beautiful.”   
“Oh my god,” she rubbed at her eyes, “I can’t believe you actually got me to do this. What’s next? Are we gonna skip third period to smoke cigarettes beneath the bleachers?”  
“I would pay good money to watch you become a private school rebel,” he teased, running his hand along her leg soothingly.   
“Oh yeah?” she smiled, stretching her legs out over his, “How much money are we talking?”  
“That’s my girl,” slinking an arm behind her, he scooted closer, pulling her thighs into his lap.  
Leaning against him, she smirked, staring vacantly at the steamed window as he continued petting her lovingly. Reaching out, she absentmindedly traced a heart into the fog.   
“What’s next? Are we gonna sneak into an R rated movie?”  
“We could, if you want.”  
She shook her head, looking up at him with a glint in her eye, “I’ll pass. Besides, we got some unfinished business.”  
“Yeah?” He cocked his eyebrow.  
“Yeah,” sitting up, she kissed him, her hand pressing to his upper thigh. 

“Well, when you put it that way,” smirking, he tugged at her until she was straddling him, his back pressed to the back of the bench seat. She had to stoop so that her head didn’t hit the ceiling, but as she kissed him again, none of that mattered. The only way the outside world existed at all was through the small heart-shaped window she had carved into the glass, which was rapidly fading away, undone by his shaking breath.


	17. The way you said “I love you” as a hello

“I think I may love you.”  
“Pardon?”  
“Sorry, what I meant to say is…” the boy paused, staring, “No, I got it right the first time. I love you.”  
“We’ve hardly spoken, sir.”   
“I know, believe me I know. I haven’t had time to gain a right to the words, and yet they persist. I love you, though I-”   
“Stop, stop, stop,” sighing, the man walked between them, staring at the paper in his hands, “What the hell is this? ‘Though I know not from where it flows?’ That’s absolute garbage. You’ve got to cut that.”  
“I told you,” she glanced to her scene partner, muttering. 

She only needed this credit to fulfill a fine arts requirements; who knew intro to theater would be so much trouble? Perhaps it could have been a good class, had it not been taught by a mad man. He was impossibly egotistical, only allowing his students to refer to him as “Professor” or “Sir.” Unlike the other fine arts professors, he absolutely refused to shrug off formalities, insisting that he had earned his honorific and would keep it. Mostly, the class itself was just listening to him lecture, telling self-centered and most likely exaggerated stories about his own theatrical exploits. However, deciding to torture his students beyond previously known capacities for cruelty, he had decided as of late that their lack of enthusiasm simply meant they weren’t engaged enough, and so had given them the hellish assignment of writing a play, splitting the scenes by groups.  
“No good,” he waved flippantly with his hand, “try again.”  
“We’ve been trying,” her partner groaned. “This isn’t listed as a writing-intensive class-”  
“If you’re going to appreciate the theatre,” making sure to pronounce the word in the most condescending way possible, he straightened his back irately, “you must appreciate all parts of it. Try again. Take it from the top.”  
Sighing, Violet’s scene partner turned to face her again, gripping his crumpled script tightly.  
“I think I may love you.”  
“Pardon?”  
“Sorry, what I meant to say is-”  
“What you meant to say-” Standing, the Professor interrupted them again, causing the class to groan, “-is ‘I am sorry for doing such a disservice to the arts.’ My god. I’m offended on behalf of actors everywhere.”  
“Sir, this wasn’t supposed to be an acting class-”  
“And yet, you have done so terribly, it has become one.” He gestured the boy off roughly. Violet groaned inwardly, hoping he wouldn’t fail them over this. “No matter how terrible the writing, a real actor knows how to work with it. Allow me to demonstrate.” Clearing his throat, he lifted his copy of their script to the height of his waist, suddenly fixing his eyes on Violet. A chill ran down her spine at the coldness of his gaze, the slight upturn of his lips as he strode silently towards her, reaching out with gentle hand to tilt her chin upwards, up, up, up, until she was meeting his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat, terrified.  
“I think I may love you.” When he spoke, it was with a gravely purr in his voice. She realized with a shudder that this was the first time he had ever actually spoken to her; she usually made it a point to disappear into the background.  
“Pardon?” her voice came out as a squeak, authentically surprised and frightened.  
“Sorry, what I meant to say is-” he paused mid-sentence, his mouth open just slightly enough for her to see his tongue press to the back of his teeth as slowly, his lips curled into a smirk, “No, I was correct the first time. I love you.”  
“We’ve hardly spoken, sir,” she desperately hoped that everyone believed the tremble in her voice to simply be the effect of her own good acting. In all reality, she found herself sweating beneath the laser gaze of his shining eyes, fixated exclusively on her, having built her in his mind into a woman he loved.  
“I know, believe me I know. I haven’t had time to gain a right to the words…” lowering his hand from her face, he instead gripped her own hand, lifting her fingers to his mouth. Lightly, he pressed a kiss to them. She hoped he didn’t notice how sweaty her palms were. “And yet, they persist. I love you.” Breaking just as suddenly as he had started, he dropped her hand, stepping back. “Beyond that the script becomes unusable.” The class offered a polite smattering of applause, and she felt her face flush red at the sudden realization of just how many people had witnessed her moment of elated terror. “I expect a new draft of your scene by next Tuesday.”  
“If you could give us a better idea of what you want! You haven’t given us anything-” her scene partner interrupted again, very obviously close to losing his mind.  
“I think what he’s trying to say,” Violet held a hand out, trying to stem the damage to her grade before it started, “is that some more guidance might be helpful. We would hate to… disgrace… your fine tastes?” Her voice lilted up, turning the statement into a question.   
“Do not worry, Miss Baudelaire,” their Professor smirked, leaning against his desk, “I have the utmost faith in you. Although, should you need it, my office hours are listed on the syllabus.”   
For a brief moment, she was so caught between the idea of failing and the concept of being caught in a very small room with him that she almost didn’t notice that he already knew her name.   
“Thank you,” she nodded quietly, still undecided on which devil she would choose. Slipping silently into her seat, she ducked her head back down again, hoping to disappear back into the background.   
“Next group?”   
Two more students shuffled out of their seats, coming to the front of the room. Deciding it had been long enough, she dared to look up, only to catch him staring at her, a smile in his eyes. Looking back down quickly, she felt her heart race, anxious, still feeling the weight of his stare against her skin even long after the class had ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College AU, aka my pet AU, aka easily my favorite AU


	18. The way you said “I love you” before we jump

“Shit. Shitshitshitshit-” he skidded to a stop at the edge, only barely not tumbling over.  
She grabbed at his arm, tugging the fabric of his sleeve roughly, “What now?”  
“I don’t know,” he could hear the panic in her voice mirrored in his.  
“You’ve got to think of something!”  
“You think I don’t know that? Shit! Shitshitshit!” he paced in uneasy circles, searching desperately for an escape. She had been right. He hated when she was right. But how the hell was he supposed to resist the allure? Even she, sensible as she was, had succumbed once he had framed it nice enough.”It’ll be fine,” he had told her; “Nothing that we haven’t done before.” And it hadn’t been, shouldn’t have been. He had no idea how it went so wrong. It must have been a set-up, had to be.  
“Think faster!” her voice interrupted his thoughts, the sounds of shouts in the distance becoming much too loud.  
“I’m thinking! I’m thinking! I-” staring at the river far below them, he turned to her sharply, “I have a plan. And it’s terrible.”  
“Great, let’s go. What’s the plan?”  
Not saying anything, he simply cocked his head toward the edge of the cliff, down to the water.   
Staring at the height, her face remained a mask of blank thought, rapid calculations dancing behind her eyes, “Seriously?”  
“Yes.”  
“Okay.”   
“Okay?”  
“Yeah.” Quickly, she untied the rope at her hip.  
“Listen--I understand it’s terrible at best-”  
“Most of your plans are.”  
“That doesn’t mean-” Looking over the edge again, the weight of his own mortality pressed upon him. “Okay, new plan-” he held his hand up, desperately scanning the surrounding area of anything at all that could be of use. “I-” There was nothing. Nothing at all. He’d die. She’d die. “I’ll distract them. You go, follow the river, it’ll lead you to-”  
“I like your first plan better.”   
“Look, the least I can do is give you a chance-”  
“You’ll die if you stay!”  
“Plan A doesn’t exactly guarantee that I won’t.”  
In the not-so-far-off distance, a shot rang out, cutting their argument short.   
Tying a loop between each of their belts, she snapped the rope tight. “Together or not at all.”  
“You seriously trust my shitty plans like that?”  
“No, but I trust you.”   
“Bad choice.”  
“Conversation for later.” Grabbing his hand, she turned to the edge, staring down.   
“We might not make it.”  
“And nothing you can say will change that.” Another shot rang out, entirely too close now. “Ready?”  
“No.”  
“Me neither. But if we wait until we’re ready, we’ll die here.”  
“We might die down there too.”  
“We also might not.” Grabbing his neck, she forced him down to her height, kissing him hard. He squeezed her hand, feeling her pulse thrum in time with his. “Survive this, alright? I got something I gotta tell you after.”  
“What?”  
“That you’re a fucking idiot.” Gripping his shirt, she grabbed onto him tightly, “Also, I love you.”  
And then there was the air, sharp and painful on his face, the sound of their screams falling behind them as they dropped, down, down, down, into the plunging darkness below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gunslinger AU


	19. The way you said “I love you,” muffled, from the other side of the door

“Go fish.”   
He heard her sigh, a card sliding off the top of the pile neatly stacked beneath the door.   
“Fours?”  
“Fuck off.”   
“Language.” He smirked as she slid the card beneath the door.  
“Any sevens?”  
He glanced down at the seven in his hand. “Go fish.”  
“Any word yet?”   
He glanced out the window at the still vacant street. “Fish again.”  
“Seriously? How long does it take for grown men to find a hardware store?”   
“Aren’t you supposed to be the tool aficionado? Why don’t you have any screwdrivers?”   
He could feel her glare through the wood, “You know damn well what happened.”  
“Well, perhaps this can be a lesson for you.”  
“Yeah, maybe I’ll marry up next time.”  
“Rude. Have any eights?”  
“Go fish.”  
He pulled a card off the top of the pile. “Besides, it’s not my fault you’ve mousetrapped yourself.”  
“In a larger sense, yes. It is. Any jacks?”  
He slid one under the door. “Poor little mouse. Outsmarted by a door.”   
“You’re not funny.”   
“I think I’m hilarious. Any twos?”   
“Of course you do. You’re the only one who does. Go fish.”   
Drawing a two off the pile, he took another card, “Little mouse mechanic can’t figure out how doors work.”  
“That’s not what happened and you know it!”  
“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly what happened.” As hilarious as the situation was, he would have paid exorbitant amounts of money to see her face right then. “And more importantly, until you’re freed, you’ve become a captive audience for my apparently insufferable humor.”  
“Dream come true, huh? Finally an audience that can’t leave?”   
“Now that’s just uncalled for.”  
“Any queens?”  
“Just the one. What sort of unfaithful man do you take me for?”   
“Insufferable. You’re insufferable.”   
“Your consolation prize, my dear.” He slid a card beneath the door.  
“I hate you.”  
“Yes, yes. I love you too, Darling.”   
He could hear her sigh, the slight thud of her head against the door.   
“What time is it?”   
He checked his watch, “Five.”  
“Damn,” she whispered quietly.  
“Got any sevens?”   
“Go fish.”   
He took a card from the pile. “What if you’re trapped in there forever?”  
“Stop it.”  
“That’ll be difficult. I’ll have to board up the wall, change my name to Rochester. Just imagine the paperwork.”  
“You’re a fucking prick, you know that, right?”   
“Try not to scare my new wife too much; I’m trying to marry someone nicer this time.”  
“Once I get out, I’m literally going to kill you.”   
“You mean if. ‘Here lies Violet’,” he covered his heart with his hand, “entombed forever in a monument to her own inability to work keys.”  
“Hey, real quick, can you do me a favor?”  
“Who am I to deny a dying woman her last wishes?”  
“Hit yourself for me.”  
“Should I aim within your reach? Attack my kneecaps?”   
“Fuck off, I’m not that short!”  
“Tiny little Violet. So small. Can’t reach the tall shelves without her husband’s help.”   
“I’m literally going to punch a hole through this door just to kill you.”  
“Can you reach or should I slide a step stool under the door?”   
“I don’t understand the joke! I’m not short!”  
“You’ve already said all my jokes are bad. I might as well capitalize off of that. Whose turn is it?”  
“Mine. Any threes?”   
He shook his head before realizing she couldn’t see him, “Go fish. So, what are your plans for the outside world?”  
“I’ve got a few debts to settle, an ex to visit.”  
“Oh, yes?”  
“Yeah. He was a total prick. Definitely had it coming.”  
“Had what coming?”  
“He’ll see.”  
“Had you coming? Because that’s my plan.”  
“You are literally the worst fucking human in the entire world.”  
“Wow, prison’s really hardened you. Where’d you learn words like that?”  
“Literally from living with you.”  
“I always knew you idolized me.”  
“Please shut up.”  
“Yes, yes. I love you too. How flattering.”   
“Are they here yet?”   
He glanced out the window to the bittersweet surprise of two of his men parking a car, “Actually, yes.”  
“Oh thank god.”  
“Oh come on. This couldn’t have been too horrible of a date.”  
“The fact that you consider it a date speaks volumes.”   
“Don’t worry, little jailbird; we’ll break you out soon enough.”  
“I thought I was a mouse.”  
“You can be both.”  
“Soon enough can’t possibly come soon enough.”  
“Just wait; so many things have changed since you’ve gone.”   
“Such as?”  
“I’ve already remarried. You’re going to love my new wife.”  
“She wouldn’t stand a fucking chance.”   
“So long as there’s a door between you and her, she might.” He smiled as she groaned, acting more irritated than she actually was. Deciding not to push his luck, he slid his fingers beneath the door. “I’m kidding. You know I could never leave my little mouse-bird of a wife.”  
“I’m going to kill you.” He could hear the repressed smile in her voice as she slid her hand beside his, their fingers touching.  
“I wouldn’t want to go any other way. Any eights?”  
“Go fish.”


	20. The way you said “I love you” slowly, the words dripping from your tongue like honey

“Tell me you love me?”  
“You already know I do.”  
“Do it anyway.”  
“Feeling particularly needy today, aren’t we?”  
“Don’t kick a man while he’s down.”   
“Fine.” Taking off her sunglasses, she wrapped her hands behind his neck. Slowly, she climbed into his lap, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I love you.”   
“Not like that.”  
“Like what then?”  
“Like you mean it.”  
“I meant it.”  
“Then more than if you meant it.”  
“You paying me enough to mean it?”  
“I always do.”  
Sighing, she caught his face in her hands, kissing him, “My poor man. Always going through it.”   
“Power doesn’t come easy.”  
“To you, it does.” She kissed him again, smirking, “Or at least it seems that way.”  
His arms slunk behind her, holding her tight to his chest, “Don’t get cheeky. You’re in an enviable position.”   
“I could say the same.”   
“I guess we’re just too beautiful to last, then.” 

She smiled as she brushed a hand over his head, stroking back his hair, “Why so sentimental tonight?”  
“Can’t I just like the look of you?”  
“Of course you can. Things just don’t tend to be so simple with you.”  
“Nothing is simple for me.”  
“I can be.”   
“You couldn’t if you tried.” Smirking, she kissed him with a greater passion than before, which he succumbed to easily. He was an important man, a dangerous man; he had more enemies than friends and more friends than people he trusted. But her—she was his lockpin downfall, disinterested in his empire, his crown. She attended his parties, accepted his gifts, allowed his presence, but she never encouraged him beyond a tempting wink and breathless kiss. He had damned himself in that aspect, really. Perhaps things could have been different if he hadn’t been so hasty to have her. But then again, she had allowed herself to be bribed, had agreed to his affections. At least she had never really pretended to love him back; that much would have been too cruel, even for them. At times, it almost seemed as if they kept each other as pets; gilded cages and diamond cuffs the only things keeping them together. She had more power than she realized, and yet, unable to love him, she had no idea on what more she was missing out on. He would have traded his kingdom for her heart, would leave it all to her if only she could consent to his adoration. It was pathetic, really, this scraping, infected yearning pushing at his chest. And yet he needed her, needed her like he needed his throne, his power, his glory. He needed her to want him, wanted her to need him, was positively ready to die at her feet should she only ask him to.

It was almost heartbreaking, how grandly he had miscalculated her allegiance. He shouldn’t have trusted her so readily, allowing her access to his contacts, locations, supply. He shouldn’t have trusted her at all. But he was a man, and men were stupid when it came to pretty women. That’s what she had been told anyway. Part of her felt guilty, like it had been too easy. She was bait too well suited to his tastes; it was unfair. How was she to know that a man with such power would be so easily undone?  
That wasn’t to say that she minded the job. The parties were extravagant, interesting, and who in their right mind would turn down champagne in such a time? But him--he had taken her into his circle, into his arms, into his bed. He exposed his back to the knife she held shaking over it, waiting for the opportune time to strike. Looking into his dark eyes, she saw all the wickedness they contained, but also all of the sick grief, desperate and wanting. The man who had everything, never to be satiated.  
She brushed his hair back with her fingers, catching his face in her hands, kissing him deeply. His tongue pressed back against hers, his fingers tight against her hips. She arched her back into his touch. Things could be so much worse for her; she had gotten lucky. He could be kind when he wanted to, was gentle when he meant to be. Despite the power, he wasn’t a brute, never struck or threatened her. He had a sharp wit and biting tongue, but his bravado wasn’t unearned. He was just shady enough to be successful, and more than satisfactory when it came to the rest. He made his money well, and when he laid her down, she certainly had nothing to complain about. And so maybe that was why she was taking so long with the job; she had so much to lose. It wasn’t a bad place for her to be, and while she didn’t like being a canary, she didn’t exactly mind being taken care of so well. He was nothing if not doting.   
Pulling back to catch her breath, she pressed another chaste kiss to his mouth. Her fingers trailed over his cheekbones, down his face, to the curve of his lips.   
“I love you,” she whispered the words in a breathy rumble, the sound building from her sternum. He smiled ever so slightly, temporarily satisfied. Her hands wound behind his neck again as she held onto him, kissing his lips once more.   
“You’re my girl?” He muttered the words into her mouth.  
“Always am. No one else is man enough to handle me.”  
“Damn right. You are a handful.” Sliding his arms back, he gripped her ass playfully.   
Laughing, she kissed him again, “I love you, I do.” She kissed him slowly, tasting the tactile shape of the words as she spoke them. She felt the way his lips pressed against hers as if to swallow them, make them his forever. Given half the chance, he would have tried to bottle them too, she was sure of it; store them thick and amber yellow on a shelf somewhere, give the concoction a name like “solstice summer.” He was always giving things silly names.   
As she kissed him the words sank into her skin, became a part of the motion of her hands, his sturdy legs and chest beneath her, holding her up. She felt them in the way he held her, the twist of his lips, thrum of her pulse. She felt the words go first to his head then to hers, making them both drunk off of this intangible whisky, this hateful ambrosia that would undo her entirely. She’d always been able to hold her liquor, but as he kissed her back, for just a moment she found herself dizzy and spinning into this mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bootlegger AU


	21. The way you said “I love you” on a sunny Tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair

And he had damned them all then, had left the world to crumble to dust. Was dust so awful, after all? Dust was all he was Lord of, all he had and knew. Life was fleeting, fickle, the moment of electric air between the clouds and the scorched earth; it could never last. But then there had been her, and he had let it all drop away, had let everything else disappear in her name. She was more than beautiful, more than radiant. She put Ero’s dear mother to shame, had made him feel his own exile all the more acutely; he hadn’t minded before, hadn’t known what was being kept from him. But there she was, upon her knees in the dirt, bare feet brown with soil and his vacant heart knocked its way loose, splintered upon the earth, planted itself within the ground now made fallow beneath her care. Her thin hands brushed the hair behind her shoulders, wiped the sweat from her brow, and he knew that he was undone. 

The flowers frosted where he stepped, became glass sculptures that shattered at his touch. His shadow was long, built architectural by the furs he wore, the heavy leaden crown upon his head coming off in his hands. She had sense enough to be afraid, had known even then that nothing acceptable could come of this, but then he was beside her in the dirt, laying his crown at her feet, catching her fingers in his stone-cold hands.

And she was all fire, all blood. The flush of her cheek, spattering of sunburn over her shoulders made him jealous of the unkind sun, Apollo’s irreverent chariot doing her the injustice of any harm. He had known exactly what to say, was ready to tell her whatever she needed to hear, but then she smiled at him with her freshwater pearl teeth, and the radiance consumed him, making him forget all his lovely words. It was unfair, to have been so deprived of the light, only to catch it all at once. How was he to survive it?

His bones were sharp beneath his skin, his touch too kind, all reverence and adoration. He hardly dared touch her, simply catching her hands in his own. Wordlessly, he pressed his lips to her fingers, his touch cool cloth on feverish skin, soothing and lovely and the culmination of everything she had ever known. She didn’t fear death, knew it as the other half, was too accustomed to loss and grief to ever fear endings again. And yet, she found herself despairing at the thought of such a moment ending.

And she was born heir to the earth, royal and loving and so very entirely alive. All he could offer her was permanence, sure and certain permanence. He told her as much, letting the dirt soil his clothes, his skin. He let the light burn his face, willing to go blind if it meant her image would be forever seared within him. He promised her kingdoms, promised her kindness and gifts and adoration. Saying nothing, she placed a flower within his hands, watched the way it withered and dried at his touch. Sinking, he readied the touch to be his grave, but closing her hands over his, she smiled, stilling his resolve. Taking the dead plant, she cupped it between her own hands, holding it so tenderly it evoked pained fires of envy within him, and then the sprig came back to life, as green and fresh as it had been before.

He lifted her easily, her feet willingly parting from the fresh grass, the scent of hyacinth tangling into his hair. Her arms caught behind his neck, trusting and ready. She was born of the earth; it was no stranger to her. She grew as roots did, deep in the soil, growing stronger the closer she became to the seat of their power. And he was strength enough, a frame upon which she could stretch her heights. After all, nothing without foundation could stay. 

Her lips were perfect rosebuds, honeysuckle sweet and impossibly kind. Every kindness he had never known resided within her bones, made her into love manifest, his devotion outstretching his infinite life. And he loved her, loved her as he might have never loved, loved her despite the fact that he was frozen, the bookend to all love stories. But then she was kissing him, hydrangea petals in her hair, making a wedding hall of whatever ground they touched upon. She was the beginning and he was the end, his love capable of lasting past it all, burning past Apollo’s unkind sun. His damnation was his comfort; despite it all, he could never be undone. A Phoenix of adoration, he was destined to rise anew to her love until the end of days.

And so she twined a group of saplings into a cove, made them grow dark and thick, the heavy scent of wood in the air. The sunlight filtered down green through the leaves, casting a living pallor over them. And he kissed her too, kissed her still-uncertain lips, kissed her as if they had, after all, been searching all this time. She brushed her hands over his face, drew a wreath of carnations about his neck. And she loved him, despite it all, despite her better judgement, she loved him in the way all halves must do. Alone they were complete, but together they were a universe. 

As the sun filtered down, it hung in her hair, danced across her face. He kissed her lips, her face, her bare shoulders. The earth swelled into a bed of soft white flowers, finally forgiving him for all the time it had kept him prisoner, forgave him for welcoming it home in the end. And she lay down upon the earth, took him with her by the hand, beckoned him down into the worthy damnation of their wedding bed. 

And he took her hand, kissed her lips, gave her the only gift she could not grow herself. She was a garden, lovely and tempered, but laying her down, he freed her of that, made her nature untamed and ruthless. He gave her the gift of death, the gift of refusal and desire and awe.

And she kissed his unholy lips, made life boil in his veins, made him certain he could pinch this world between his fingers like a flame. And he was hers, entirely and unfathomably, down in the dirt, upon the fallow earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Persephone and Hades AU


	22. The way you said “I love you” through a song

“If you do not stop, I am going to lose my mind.”  
“Okay, so I’m a little out of practice.”  
“A little? You call that a little?” He scoffed, leaning against the piano. “You, Darling, are torturing that poor thing.”  
“Gee, sorry, I must have been too busy trying to survive my own captivity to keep my piano skills as sharp as your sensibilities demand.” Deciding not to let him get the better of her, she kept plucking at the notes.  
Waving his hands, he made his disgust evident, “Stop, Stop, Stop. My god, woman. You’re making a mockery of the arts.”  
“Oh, hush. It’s not as easy as you think.”  
“No?” Leaning over, he played a simple melody with one hand.   
“Well now you’re just showing off.”  
“I thought you were supposed to be clever. How are you this hilariously awful?”

“Now you’re just being mean.” She glared at him, offended.  
“I mean, I suppose you have to start somewhere, but really?”  
“Yeah, okay, alright, I get it.” Closing the slide over the keys, she began to scoot off the bench in a huff.  
Coming up behind her, he wrapped his arms about her shoulders, holding her in place. “Oh come on, don’t do that.”  
“Do what? Leave? Not allow myself to be made a fool of?”  
“You were just about to storm off and stay mad at me all day.”  
“Have you ever considered that not everything is about you?”  
“Never. The very thought is heresy.” Smiling, he kissed the top of her head. “Here, let me help you.”  
“I don’t want your help.”  
“Don’t be cross just because I’m so dashingly talented. Here, look,” reaching around her, he placed his fingers on the keyboard, playing a quick scale. “Seven notes, yes?”   
“Okay.”  
“All you have to do is put them in the right order.”  
“Entirely easier said than done.”  
“It’s a dance. You just have to know the steps.” He quickly picked out a simple tune. Awkwardly, she placed her hands alongside his, butchering the five note song. Trying to find something not entirely disparaging to say, he fell silent.  
“Is this a good time to tell you I’m no good at dancing?”   
“I might have guessed.”  
“Never mind, it’s stupid anyway.”  
“Art is not stupid!”  
“Then I’ll leave it to you, okay?”   
“Nonsense. You’re a smart girl, you’ll get it. Try this,” carefully, he tapped out a clunky tune, which she just barely managed to replicate, albeit awkwardly. “See? You just have to learn to listen to how the notes respond to one another.”  
“What about sheet reading?”  
He shrugged, “Couldn’t tell you.”  
“Wait,” she pivoted to face him, “you can’t read sheet music?”  
“No.”  
“Then what are all of these for?” She gestured out to the piles of paper. He shrugged.  
“Presentation. Atmosphere.”  
“You are really impossible.”  
“Look, you like books. Just think of it as a story. Everything is followed by something else.”  
“But how do you know what follows?”  
“Because it’s what’s supposed to happen next. No matter how complicated the song, the note either fits the story or it doesn’t. Listen,” he began to play a smooth strain, interrupted by a harsh sharp after a few bars. “See? Wrong story, wrong note. But, put the same note in a different story,” he played the same tune, transposed now to fit, “and it glides right in. It works.”   
“This makes absolutely no sense at all. How do you know what works?”  
“Because it does. Only certain things can go together,” falling into an easy rhythm, he began to play a waltzy slow tune.   
“But how can you be sure it’s right?”  
“It sounds right.”  
“You know what? I’m just going to leave this to you.”  
“No, wait.” He kept her trapped, thinking hard. “Okay. You don’t get dancing or writing. You like complex equations and weird machines, right? Think of it like a formula. It’s not a dance, it’s science.”   
“How?”  
“The… isotopes,” he played a chord, “work better with… other isotopes?” He played the same chord, but in a minor key. “I don’t know, you’re not speaking my language anymore. Finite notes, infinite combinations. Only some work well enough together to have a reaction.”   
“So… particulate to product?”   
“Sure. Mix these three products,” he arranged her hand on the keyboard, “and get this end product.” Pressing her hand down, she pulled out a successful C chord.  
“Okay…” she hesitated, uncertain.  
“Do that enough times, and-” confidently, he began to play Mozart’s fourteenth.   
Slowly, she shook her head, “Seems impossible to me.”  
“You just need more practice,” smiling, he kissed the top of her head again.  
“That’s what I was trying to do, before I was so rudely interrupted!”  
“Fair enough,” smirking he sat beside her on the bench, leaning back against the keys. “Tell you what—I’ll make you a deal. You promise to get better, I promise I won’t complain.”  
“Deal.”   
“Wonderful. Now, you might want to get started right away. If your playing earlier was anything to go off of, you need a lot of practice.”   
He laughed as she hit his arm, irritated but still fighting back a smile, terribly beautiful and wonderfully imperfect.


	23. When One Stops The Kiss To Whisper “I’m Sorry, Are You Sure You-” And They Answer By Kissing Them More

She had to stand on her toes to kiss him, holding on tight so that she wouldn’t stumble. As he held her he kissed her face, her lips, her neck.  
“Poor little Violet. You didn’t actually think that, did you?”   
“I’ve known you long enough to never try to predict your behavior.”   
“Of course nothing happened. How could it, with you looking like that?”  
“You were gone awful long.”  
“Strictly business. Although, I must admit, I do like you when you’re jealous.”  
“Stop it.”

“I’m serious. I might just go and have an affair just to watch you get all riled up.” Circling his arms behind her, he lifted her up, kissing her pouting mouth.  
“I’m serious too. If you disgrace me, I’ll kill you.”  
“Oh, that’s what it’s about, is it? Has nothing to do with how tall and blond my associate is?”  
“Come off it. You know it doesn’t.”  
“Do you not think I’m attractive and powerful enough?”  
“No, I just know your type.”  
“Which is?”  
“Morally dubious and willing.”   
“If I’m as horrible as you make me out to be, perhaps you shouldn’t miss me so much.”  
“I don’t.”  
“Hmm.” He smirked as he kissed her again, her grip about him too tight to give any weight to what she was saying. “What’s got you so upset?”  
“I was just thinking-”  
“That never ends well for me.”  
“-and, you’re not sleeping with anyone else, yes?”  
“Didn’t we just cover this?”  
“It’s just. I’d rather you tell me.”  
“Pardon?”  
“If you’re going to, I’d just rather you tell me.”  
“Okay?” He paused, confused. “But I’m not.”  
“Alright, just. Don’t lie about it.”  
“Am I being accused of something?”  
“No, only…” she shrugged weakly, “You’re… easily bored.”   
“Are- Are you asking if I’m bored of sleeping with you?”  
“No! Well, not really. Maybe. I don’t know! Just-” frustrated she paused, trying to formulate her thoughts. “It’s like this—this is the only thing I’ve ever had, right? So as far as I’m concerned, things are good. BUT. You have a whole history of experience outside of this, so you specifically know what you’re missing. And if you go wandering looking for it, I don’t want to be the last to know.”   
“Oh my god, you’re serious.”  
“Don’t make fun of me!”  
“I’m not- I’m not making fun, promise.” Smiling, he kissed her again. “If it makes you feel better, I promise to tell you. But also, you need to know that you,” still smirking, amused, he kissed beneath her ear, “are the most erotic creature I have ever seen.”  
“Now you’re just being mean.”  
“You are magnificent, Countess. Do you think anyone else gets to come home to such a sight as this?” Again, he lifted her, spinning her in a tight circle with the simple hope of making her less angry.  
She smiled as he set her down, still somewhat irritated. “Probably.”  
“But not like this. Believe me, there is nothing boring about finding you in my bed. On my honor.”   
“Well that’s hardly reassuring.” But she smiled anyway, kissing him back. Sighing, he pet back her hair, letting his hand rest behind her jaw, holding her face to his. 

Breaking the kiss, she looked up at him again. “But are you sure you-”  
But then he was kissing her, a suppressed laugh curling his lips into a smile, and despite it all, she wanted to believe him.


	24. “I almost lost you” kiss

“Holy shit- Holy fucking shit-” Grabbing her, he hoisted her up before she even had the chance to try to stand. “Are you alright? Are you okay? Where does it hurt?”  
“I’m fine, I’m-” she put a hand to her head, her eyes still wide, “a little dazed.”  
“Are you okay? Did you get hit?” Frantically, he began searching over her for any signs of injury.  
“I’m fine, I told you, I’m fine.”   
“Are you sure? That-” looking behind them, he stared off at the distance. “Holy shit!”  
“We survived, I’m fine. At least for now.”   
Not believing her, he continued to look over her quickly, turning her head one way and then another, “That was- It was-”

“Unbelievably successful?”  
“Terrifying. I told you to sit this out!” His concern turned to anger as he furrowed his brow.  
“Like hell I would. You wouldn’t have survived without me.”  
“You barely survived as is!”  
“But I did!”  
“BARELY! Obviously you’re not ready, so-”  
“I’m fine! Stop being so scared!”  
“I’m not scared! I just-” glaring at each other they paused, and then his hands were tangled in her hair, holding onto her desperately as their lips met like embers and gunpowder. Her arms wrapped behind his neck, pulling him tighter, closer, his wandering hands gripping her however he could.   
“Holy shit,” he murmured against her open mouth, breaking for air.  
“For once, you’re absolutely right.” She kissed him again, her hands fast against his cheeks, clinging to him.   
Without particularly wanting to, he began to laugh, his teeth colliding with hers, “Oh my god, that was terrible.”  
“It’s fine. It’s over. Now stop talking so much,” she laughed too, relieved and more than a bit shaken up. Complying happily, he pulled her tight to his chest, their rapid heartbeats slowing to the dull thrum of elation, bruised and sweaty and more than a little content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gunslinger AU


	25. Last kiss

She wasn’t a gentle person. Or, no; she was gentle but not kind. A dangerous mixture.   
It was unfair, the way she held onto him, her head against his chest as if she wanted to hear his heart break. He wouldn’t deny her the right, would shatter to a million pieces if it made any of this easier.   
And how cruel could she be, to kiss him while crying? His gut twisted, a terrified mixture of anger and despair, her hand unfairly soft against his cheek. Desperate for her to stay, he held onto her, tried to communicate by his lips alone his frantic internal mantra of “I love you, I do, I love you,” but she wasn’t listening anymore. It was too late.   
Softly, she eased off her toes, and he continued to hold her up, as if, if he kissed her long enough, he could change her mind, could make her stay. 

He was cold as he kissed her, stiff and unrelenting. He probably hated the fact that she was crying; crying always upset him. Straining, she remained on her toes, holding herself to his height, hoping that if she waited long enough, he would ask her to stay. But no. He simply let her break the kiss, his grip hard as if to remind her that she was still his, no matter where she went. She was his.   
His breath shook against her lips, and for a moment she thought he might speak, but he said nothing, did nothing. Leaving her heart in her place, she stepped back, feeling the gliding weight of his hand slip off of her arm, the absence of him accumulating all at once, negative space made manifest. Not willing to meet his eyes, she looked away, turning quickly before she could change her mind.


	26. “We can never be together” kiss

Both of them froze. Just as quickly, he pulled his hand off her knee, clearing his throat awkwardly.  
“Sorry, I-”  
“It’s fine-”  
“I didn’t mean-”  
“Consider it forgotten.” Her words, pinched and rushed, struck him harder than they ought to.  
“Forgotten?” He prodded before he could stop himself.

“Well, maybe not forgotten, but… You understand.” Definitely not forgotten. She was going to remember this moment, dwell on it obsessively later, try untangle the entire thing.  
“If my behavior offends, I apologize.”  
“I’m not offended.”  
“Then I suppose I rescind my apology,” he smiled at her, his curled lip exposing his teeth, and deep within her something chattered.  
“Professor, I-”  
“Miss Baudelaire, I do not mean to give you the wrong impression. It may seem like I am a older man, flirting with a young girl.”  
“But?” She hesitated, waiting for the sting of his rejection.  
“But nothing. I’m simply stating that is probably how this looks.”  
Slowly, she nodded, cautious, “It's probably a good thing no one’s looking.”  
“My thoughts exactly. I’d hate for anyone to get the wrong idea about how I feel about you.”  
“Of course. Although,” pausing, she weighed her words, “without context, how do you suppose it would look?”  
“Well,” leaning back, he stretched his arms out along the back of the futon until his hand rested behind her. “Anyone who looked without bothering to find out the whole story would probably think that I admire your tenacity and talent for the arts, while still finding delight in your willingness to argue any point.”  
“Is that all?”  
“Well, if they had the wrong sort of idea,” he leaned closer to her, his voice dropping to a throaty purr, “they might accuse me of thinking of you in that red skirt entirely too often. They might even suppose that sometimes, I spend even more time thinking about what’s underneath it.”  
Her heart beating in her throat, she nodded slowly, “Sort of like how people might think I come to your office hours so often with so many questions because I don’t pay attention?”  
“Exactly. Because, as we both know,” Slowly, he slid his hand back onto her knee, “You are a very good student.”   
“And if they watched me too closely during lecture, they might think I didn’t hear a word you said, too busy wondering.”  
“Wondering what?”  
“If you’re just as cocky in bed.”  
“Yes,” he smirked, moving his hand up her leg. “That would be awful.”  
“They might even think I noticed your face and wore the red skirt on purpose last week.”  
“You little cheat-” he caught himself. “Yes, well. It’s a good thing that I keep all of my academic relationships professional.”  
“And it’s a very good thing no one’s watching.” Taking the plunge, she closed the little space still left between them, feeling the soft give of his lips beneath hers. Swiftly, his hand slid to her waist, holding her as his other hand cupped her face, kissing her with a passion that only comes from the constant pressure of restraint. She sighed into the kiss, gasping at his cold hands as his fingers brushed her side beneath her shirt. 

He gripped her tightly, not one to give up on a prize. Sliding his hand behind her to the naked skin of her back, he pulled her into his open lap. She, adorably, fumbled, her nervous fingers tight behind his neck, as if he could ever willingly remove himself from her grasp. Ever the pupil, she waited for his lead, letting him push his tongue between her teeth before she reciprocated.  
“This is dangerous,” she muttered the words against his face.   
“Do you like danger, Miss Baudelaire?” He smirked, breaking the kiss to move his lips along her thin neck.  
“Sometimes. Depends.”  
“Depends on what?”  
“The payoff.”  
“Fair enough. How do you feel about doing a little extra credit?”  
“Do I need it?”  
“Not particularly, but I’ve got a few things I’d very much like to teach you.”  
“In that case, I’d be much obliged.”  
“Good.” Smirking, he slid his hands behind her, gripping her rear, pulling her towards him again. Laughing nervously, she allowed herself to be pressed to his chest, kissing him again in a relieved, open-mouthed sigh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College AU! Hell yeah!


	27. Breaking The Kiss To Say Something + Hands On The Other Person’s Back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Breaking The Kiss To Say Something, Staying So Close That You’re Murmuring Into Each Other’s Mouths
> 
> Hands On The Other Person’s Back, Fingertips Pressing Under Their Top, Drawing Gentle Circles Against That Small Strip Of Bare Skin That Make Them Break The Kiss With A Gasp

“Am I supposed to be your personal foot rest?”   
“If you hate it so much, you can move.”   
“I was here first, Dear.”  
“Okay. And?”  
Still pretending to be miffed, he shook his head disappointedly, returning to his own reading. Absently, he placed his hand on her leg, gently stroking her bare skin with his thumb.   
Just when had finally gotten back into the rhythm of the paper he was desperately trying to make heads or tails of, she began fidgeting, pulling him out of his concentration. Finally, sighing, she closed her book.  
“Okay, you win, now stop distracting me.”  
“Distracting?” He looked at her, genuinely surprised. “You find this distracting?”  
“Ha ha, very funny.”  
Pleased, he smirked, “I had no idea you were so easily undone, Countess.” Slowly, he let his hand wander up her leg, leaning in until his fingers alighted upon her hip and he was finally close enough to kiss her downturned lips.   
“Now you’re just being rude,” she ruined the quip with a smile, leaning forward to kiss him back. Tenderly, he pulled her closer, his hand sliding beneath her shirt to the small of her back. Her skin was warm to his touch, soft and giving beneath his hand. Always greedy, he tried to pull her closer, feeling her sigh against his lips. Wandering inch by inch, he traced along her spine, drawing indolent circles until she broke the kiss with a stuttering gasp. 

“Well, then,” smiling hungrily, he shifted until he was in front of her, her legs neatly caught on either side of his waist. “You really are easily undone. Noted.”   
She was about to protest when he kissed her again, his fingers pressing back against her, confidently distracting her. She sighed, shuddering, her grip against him tightening. “Not so very difficult at all,” he muttered, pleased, smiling in a way that made her very nervous indeed. 

He could feel her shaking breath hot against his lips, her lithe fingers tightening against his neck.  
“Okay, yes, you’ve made your point,” her voice was breathy, her face so close to his she practically kissed the words into his mouth.   
“Oh, no,” he smirked, punctuating his words with a chaste peck against her lips. “See, now I’M distracted. You shouldn’t have gotten my attention if you didn’t want it, Countess.” 

Groaning irritatedly, she held his face, hoping he might finally shut up if she kissed him long enough. Compliant for the first time in his life, he simply kissed her back, brushing his fingers against her again, taking the opportunity of her gasp to deepen the kiss.   
“You’re cruel.”  
“And you like it.” Smirking, pleased, he held her firm, ready to ride this out as far as he could.


	28. Routine Kisses Where The Other Person Presents Their Cheek/Forehead For The Hello/Goodbye Kiss Without Even Looking Up From What They’re Doing

She wakes up first. She makes the coffee, cleans the dishes, curses in the sanctuary of her kitchen, no disapproving ears to hear her. She cleans the table, creates the grocery list, finds a book. 

He comes downstairs later, still tired, and doesn’t question how the table became so clean. No matter how it’s left at night, the table is always clean in the morning. If you asked him, he’d shrug, call it magic. A coffee is at his place, still hot. She’s sitting at her spot, reading a book. Not wanting to interrupt, he brushes her hair from her face, kisses her forehead. She tilts her head towards him, doesn’t say anything. She’s busy, lost in her story. A few minutes later, once she’s finished, she closes the book with a sigh, and standing, kisses his distracted cheek, leaving him to his own work.

She finds him later in the parlor, pacing, the phone cord not nearly long enough to follow his long strides. Wordlessly, she taps his arm, proffers the shirt she has mended. He takes it gratefully, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She rolls her eyes at his over-eager display, but smiles anyway. 

In the afternoon, she is working and not paying any attention to him at all. He tries to break her concentration, to make her laugh, but instead he just pisses her off. She swats his arm. He pretends to be grievously injured until, obstinate as ever, she kisses him in reparation. She doesn’t apologize and he doesn’t want her to, but she does laugh, and so he is satisfied. 

In the evening, he comes up behind her in the kitchen, startling her. He asks what she’s cooking. She tells him nothing so long as he’s leering over her. She can feel his smile as he kisses the back of her neck, ruffles her hair just to upset her. Showing off just how much taller he is, he rests his chin on her head, stands behind her and watches as she dices vegetables. She knows he likes watching the knives so she doesn’t complain, even showing off a bit. He calls it erotic. She calls him insane.

That night, he tempts her away from her hostess duties with a glass of wine. Pressing it into her hands, he kisses her cheek, bids her stay. Humoring him, she does, sitting so that her pink knees poke out beneath the hem of her dress. He thinks about kissing her legs. When he tells her he’s thinking about kissing her legs, she blushes, using the glass to cover her flustered expression. He smiles, but then she tells him to meet her in the kitchen in five minutes, and it takes everything in him not to run. 

After a particularly long night, they lay in bed, her beneath his arm. She doesn’t know if he’s awake, and doesn’t want to bother him, but does so anyway. He answers a kiss to the crown of her head, shushing her. She remembers he never payed off his coffee, and reminds him as such. Sighing, he tilts her head up, kisses her lips, asks if he can sleep now. Content, she lays down again, listens to his heartbeat, doesn’t see the way he smiles, letting his lips rest gentle against her hair.


	29. Exhausted parents kiss

“No, this is YOUR problem.”  
“Please,” not having the energy to pretend she was at all together, she fell to pleading. “I haven’t slept more than an hour!”  
“That sounds VERY much like a you problem.”   
“Just two hours. Please. I just want to sleep.”  
“You should have thought about that first. I tried to warn you.”  
“One hour. Just one.”  
“You should have just left it.”  
“Thirty minutes?”  
He sighed, “I don’t suppose you’ve cooked dinner, have you?”  
“Ten minutes.”  
“God fucking damn it. Give me the fucking box.”   
Grateful, she handed over the shoebox, “The clinic will be open Tuesday, and I can go then. I promise.”  
“Whatever you say. Go sleep.”  
Kissing his cheek, she narrowly avoided telling him she loved him. 

Sighing, he stared down at the entirely too-tiny animal in his lap. Of course she had to rescue a fucking cat—bleeding heart Violet. After finding it by the street, she hadn’t been able to leave it, and so it came into the house. Into his house. It wasn’t that he minded cats, he just didn’t particularly want one wandering around his stuff. The kitten was absolutely tiny, smaller than his hand, ears still folded and eyes still shut. Honestly, he didn’t see how it could possibly be as much trouble as she claimed. Carefully, he reached out, cautiously touching it, making sure it was just sleeping and not dead. If the thing had died mere minutes after being handed off to him, she’d never forgive him. He heaved a sigh of relief as it moved, stretching, and then began to cry in a shrill voice.

… 

“Violet. Violet, please.” She woke up to him shaking her arm.  
“What time is it?” Sitting up, she rubbed her eyes, exhausted.  
“Seven. Your turn.”   
“How long did I sleep for?”   
“Long enough. Please take your turn. This thing hates me.”  
“It doesn’t hate you.”  
“Yes he does.” With a solemn expression, he held the crying kitten out to her.   
Sighing, she took the cat, glancing around, “Where’s his food?”  
“On the counter.” Drained, he fell face first onto the bed, already having stripped off his shirt and pants.  
“Okay. Thanks.” Still half-asleep, she mumbled the words, kissing the side of his head. “I’ll get you in a few hours?”   
He grunted as way of reply, not wanting to be awake any longer. Sighing, she carried the crying kitten downstairs, searching for his bottle. One more day. Only a few hours left. They would make it. 

… 

She couldn’t remember what it felt like to have free time to just… do things. Sighing, she rubbed at her eyes, glad to have time to rest. As cute as it had been, she was glad to be able to hand the cat off. He had insisted upon bringing the cat to the clinic himself, telling her to rest. Not one to argue with that logic, she agreed, but had decided to cook something nice for dinner, as a way of thanks. He had made his feelings very clear, and despite her promises that it would be her problem, he had helped her anyway. He wasn’t always terrible, not when he didn’t want to be.   
Before she had finished, however, she heard the car pull back into the drive. Frowning, she checked the clock; he shouldn’t be back so soon. There was the click of a door opening and then the sound of his footsteps, interlaced with the sound of high-pitched mewing. Coming into the kitchen, he stood, facing her, the cat held in his hands.  
“I thought you-”  
“No good.”  
“They wouldn’t take him?”  
“No, the clinic itself was no good. I didn’t like it.”  
“What’s wrong with it?”  
“Doesn’t matter. We’ll just have to find another.”  
“Alright, she sighed. “Here, I’ll feed him.”  
“I got it,” he nodded towards the counter, “You just focus on feeding us.”  
“Deal,” she smiled, feeling her exhaustion sink anew.

…

It had only been three days, and already she was past the point of exhaustion. She squinted her eyes shut, praying for the day that they could finally feed him every three hours instead of two.  
“Your turn,” he tapped her arm with a tired sigh.   
She groaned, “Okay. Where’s he at?”  
“Arson’s downstairs.”   
Opening her eyes, she blinked slowly, “Pardon?”  
“The cat’s downstairs.”  
“Well that was one hell of a Freudian slip.”  
“No—Arson—that’s his name.”  
“He has a name now?” She couldn’t hide the exasperation from her voice.  
Benignly, he shrugged, “We’ve got to call him something until we’re rid of him.”  
“No, you don’t understand,” she held her hands out, frantic. “Once you name an animal, you can’t get rid of it!”  
“Why not?”  
“I don’t know! Science!”   
“Wow, you are tired, aren’t you?”  
“No, I’m telling you, you won’t be able to leave him now!”  
“We’ll see about that. You drastically underestimate my abilities.”   
Standing up, she groaned, “God damn it. I can’t believe this.”

…

Almost exactly twenty four hours later, he came back in the front door, looking rather guilty.   
She raised her head from where she had been sleeping, looking at him, “Well?”  
“The good news is he doesn’t have rabies or ringworm.”  
“The bad news?”  
“We have to bring him in next week for his shots.”  
“The shelter won’t take him?”  
“They…” he cleared his throat, looking away. “No good. Terrible. Probably a drug front.”  
“Okay,” she sighed, resigned. “Alright. Give me the cat.”  
“He’d prefer it if you called him by his name.”  
“Ha. Purrfur.” She grimaced, massaging her temple, “Wow, I really am tired. Okay, give me Arson.” She sighed, “God, that sounds awful.”   
“For what it’s worth, they’re amazed he’s so healthy.” Sitting beside her, he gently handed her the tiny scoundrel.  
“Of course he is. We’re great cat guardians.”  
“Quite,” he smiled, stroking back her hair. She sighed, leaning into the touch. Equally as exhausted, he collapsed beside her, both of them groaning as Arson began to cry to be fed.  
“Alright. Guess I’m up,”   
Tilting her face towards himself, he kissed her softly. Smiling, she kissed him back, relaxing into the kind touch.   
“Your hair’s an absolute mess, just so you know.”  
“I’m aware.”  
“I like it.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah,” he kissed her again, surrendering to the giddy exhaustion in his chest.   
“You were right, you know.”  
“Pardon?”  
“This was a terrible idea.”  
“Yeah, well.” He brushed her hair behind her ear, kissing her forehead, “it was your terrible idea. So. What else could I do?”   
“Thanks.”  
“Of course. Now please,” he kissed her again, quick and chaste, “go feed the beast.”  
“Come along, Arson,” she lifted the crying kitten, smiling, carrying him into the kitchen. Sighing, he stretched his arms out along the back of the couch, falling into a feather light contented sleep.


	30. Kiss under a full moon

“I’m surprised at you; aren’t you supposed to know about stuff like this?”  
“Since when?”  
“You love weird stories and science. It just seems right up your alley.”  
“Well, I apologize for my unbelievable ignorance,” she scoffed, mock offended. “I don’t suppose you’re a space aficionado?”   
“Of course I am. It comes with the territory.”  
“The territory?”  
“Of being the greatest lover in modern history.”  
“I hate you so much.”   
“But seriously, look,” leaning his head closer to hers, he gestured upwards in a vague pattern. “That’s… the…” looking around, he tried to cover his lie, “clover.”  
“The clover?” She scrunched her nose, trying to see what he was supposed to be seeing.   
“Yes. It’s supposed to be good luck.”  
“Good luck?” Looking at him, she cocked her eyebrow.   
“Yes. It’s said to bring good fortune to those looking to… get lucky.”  
“Fuck you.”  
“Language. But speaking of which, there-” he gestured loosely towards the horizon, “is The Entwined Lovers.”  
“You’re full of shit.”   
“Well, not all of the parts of it are visible because of light pollution and all that,” he shrugged. “But it comes from a Thai myth about the creation of the world.”  
“Serious?” She looked at him, almost impressed.   
Feeling brave, he nodded, “Oh sure. The Nordic sailors also used it to navigate. But they, of course referred to it as the Backwards Goat.”  
“Backwards Goat?”   
He was losing her again. Swiftly, he began nodding, “Horrible legend. Terrifying. They had quite the skill at telling bloody stories.”   
“You’ll have to tell me sometime.”  
“Sometime, but not tonight. Maybe a better story for tonight. Like…” he glanced about, trying to find something, “the… Tower. Super old story.”   
“Oh yes?” She smirked, looking at him.   
He nodded gravely, “Yes. Long story, filled with lots of death, deceit, and robbery. And sex. Tons of sex.”  
“Right here?” She gestured upwards.   
Nodding nonchalantly, he continued, “Yeah, right about there. That star there is part of the omega cluster. See, here’s the tower,” he gestured abstractly, “and here’s the… foundation and… whatnot.”  
“Whatnot, huh? Sounds official.”  
“Pardon me for not being a poet all the time.”  
“How old is this story?”  
“A few centuries at least.”  
“Yeah?” Shifting closer to him, she nestled her head against his neck. “How do you know so much?”  
“I told you; it’s my job as a master of romance.”  
“Do you have a favorite?”   
“Probably the… Woodpecker.” He traced out a lopsided shape. “It’s easy to find, you just need to find the eye first.”   
“Which ones that?”  
“The particularly bright one, right there,” he pointed.  
“Wow, I have a lot to learn.”  
“Don’t beat yourself up about it, my Dear. Not everyone can be a genius. In her unfathomably gentle way, she touched the side of his face, tilting it until he was looking at her, and then, equally as soft, her lips touched his, and it was bliss. He let his hand slip over her waist, and then she was laying back in the grass, her hair fanning beneath her, a fallen part of the dark sky. She kissed him, fingers cupping his face, warm and lovely, a sigh sending chills down his spine. For a moment, he almost felt bad about tricking her, but then she kissed the side of his face, her lips tracing a slow trail down to his jaw.  
“You know I know you’re full of shit, right?”  
“Pardon?”  
“Omega cluster?”  
“It’s a real thing!”  
“Potentially, but it wouldn’t be that one. That’s a planet.”  
“I knew that.”  
“Did you?”  
“You believed me for awhile though, didn’t you?”   
“I have to admit, you almost had me going.”  
“In that case, should I continue?”  
“By all means. I want to hear the brutal history of The Tower.”  
“Sure you wouldn’t rather hear about the…” he gestured to a vague corner, “Conniving Wife?”  
“I’ll stick with The Tower, but thanks.”   
“Alright,” kissing her again, he smiled before laying beside her. “So the entire story starts a long time ago…”


	31. Giggly Kiss

“Shh! Shh shh shh!” She kissed him as she shushed him, smiling so wide he ended up kissing her teeth instead.   
“Why? Am I such a dreadful secret?” Teasing her, he lifted her at the waist, searing her upon the counter.  
“Quiet! You have to be quiet!” Unsuccessfully, she tried to keep her voice serious, but broke into another laugh, muddling the sound with her hand.  
“Okay. Quiet,” he whispered back, causing both of them to snicker again.  
“Here. Give it- give it to me,” she reached for the bottle he was clutching.  
“I don’t know. Do you think you can handle it?” Pulling it out of her reach, he cocked his eyebrow playfully.  
“The question is,” lilting a bit to the side, she caught her balance, overcorrected, and then pressed a jabbing finger to his chest, “Can YOU?”   
“Good question. Amazing question. The answer is yes,” taking her hand, he desperately tried to maintain his own balance, “I can handle most things.”  
“Okay, so. So what’s the thing you can handle the least?”  
“Aren’t we supposed to be kissing? You promised me kissing.”  
“Okay, here’s some kissing,” she pressed her lips to his, tasting very much of whatever deadly concoction it was inside the aged bottle. “NOW. Answer the question.”  
“Are we not being quiet anymore?”  
“Oh!” She hit her hands against his shoulders, holding onto him. “Right! I meant,” she lowered her voice comically, “Answer the question.” He laughed, unable to contain it, and she quickly kissed him, trying to muffle the sound. “Quiet! Quiet!”  
“Why are we being quiet? I’m not a big fan.”  
“Because, they,” she waved vaguely towards the door, “will get jealous and peek maybe.”  
“They might anyway. We could pretend to be in a fight?”  
“Will that work?”

“I DON’T KNOW, WILL IT?” He yelled the words, angrily furrowing his brow before breaking into a quiet restrained laugh. Drawing her shoulders up, she pressed her fingers to her mouth, giggling.  
“I DON’T KNOW. ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!”  
Holding a finger up, he took a swig from the bottle before passing it to her, “YOU KNOW WHAT I CAN’T HANDLE? I CAN’T HANDLE YOU!” Tears starting in her eyes from holding back laughter, she burrowed her face against his shoulder.   
“YOU’RE DRUNK!” The words were muffled against his shirt.  
“SO ARE YOU!”  
“I GUESS WE ARE FIGHTING THEN! YOU BASTARD MAN!”  
“FUCK!”  
“Okay,” still giggling, she kissed him, wrapping her arms behind his neck to hold on, “I think that worked.”  
“We are so good at this,” nodding seriously, he kissed her, whispering the words against her mouth.  
“We’re such great actors.”  
“Well, one of us is.”  
“Come on, don’t sell yourself short.” She laughed again, amused at her own terrible joke, and he didn’t have it in him to be more than vaguely offended.   
Still smirking, he pulled her close to himself, kissing her over and over, feeling the beautiful hairpin turn of her lips as she laughed, the sound quiet, nestling deep in his chest, a gift just for him.


	32. “I do” Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kitlaf prompt

Frantic, he wiped his hands on his pants. Were palms supposed to get this sweaty? It seemed excessive. Of course, the knowledge that he was marrying the love of his life was nice, but every time he thought about it, he felt his nerves shoot through his body, making him nauseous with anxiety. While he usually didn’t mind being the center of attention, this seemed entirely too much. There were too many people here, and all of them were looking at him. He didn’t even have the protection of a character to hide behind; they were all waiting for him to be himself. He wiped his hands again.   
Obvious perks aside, this was a pretty Shakespearean revenge. The only relief to the tension was the knowledge that her brother would have to sit there, watching him kiss his sister. Tomorrow morning, he would be irrefutably able to shut down whatever that idiot boy said with “And I banged your sister.” It was going to be awesome. Not that that was the only good thing about marrying her, it was just a lovely side effect. Every holiday for the rest of his life would be spent smirking across the dinner table, waiting for an opportunity to pull that out. He had finally won.   
She met his eyes and his stomach made a respectable attempt at hurtling itself through his brain. Discreetly wiping his hands one last time, he took hers, hoping she didn’t notice how sweaty his were. The presider fed them the vows; standard things, common. Wealth and poverty, friend and foe, accomplice and ardor. The same things everyone said. He had tried to let them write his own, but it was deemed “too much of a liability.” Those bastards.  
She smiled, her teeth a perfect reflection of the ivory lace of her gown, and he had to physically restrain himself from just kissing her there. A few minutes. He only had to wait a few minutes. Unable to hear over the ringing in his ears, he hoped he hadn’t stumbled over the words too badly. She, still smiling, repeated back whatever the fuck they were supposed to be saying with a perfect clarity. She promised to love him from general works to geography, tightening her fingers against his, and it was bliss.   
And then, as if he needed permission, the presider said he could kiss her, and not even hell could stop him. All at once it didn’t matter that people were watching; let them watch. All he had was her hands in his, and then his hands were cupping her face, and hers were touching his waist, and all they were were fingers reaching towards one another, wanting and so desperately, desperately alive. He kissed her, craning her face up towards his, feeling the smile of her lips pressed to his, his chest becoming a giddy, bubbling thing. He kissed her, certain that if eternity had a taste, this would be it; the waxy balm of her lipstick, soft caress of her hair. For a moment, he became aware he had been kissing her too long, but who had time to care? She was a fire he would go blind staring into, a letter he would read over and over again, a patch of earth he desperately longed to dig his hands into. And she was his. Forever. For the rest of his life, she would be at his arm, falling asleep against his shoulder, kissing his undeserving lips. She was bliss incarnate, and as she eased off her toes, she smiled, finally his.


	33. “I’ve missed you” kiss

“How did it go?” She glanced back over her shoulder at him. He grumbled a vague response, yanking off his jacket and letting it drop to the kitchen floor. “That bad?”  
“Complete and utter waste of time. Idiots, all of them.”  
“What took so long then? You've been gone all day.”  
“I had to speak very slowly to get anything done at all.” Disgruntled, he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, watching as she diced some leafy vegetable.  
“You poor thing; no one has ever suffered as you have.”  
“Honestly. I’m a tragic figure, Darling.”  
“Misunderstood. Mistreated.”  
“Just general misery. And then, after it all, I come home only to find my wife is trying to feed me vegetables.”  
“Want to trade next time? I would love a chance to disappear all day only to come back bemoaning my boring fate.”  
“I don’t think they're quite ready to have you set upon them yet.”  
“What does that say about you then?”  
“I’ve had years of acclimation. They’d be wholly unprepared.”  
“Element of surprise.”  
“Element of something, alright.” Leaning over, he pressed a stiff kiss to the side of her face.  
“You’ll have better luck next time.”  
“Luck has nothing to do with it. Next time I'll blackmail the right people.”  
“Of course,” she shook her head, smirking. “The house was so quiet without you.”  
“What is that supposed to mean?”  
“It’s not supposed to mean anything. I'm just saying, it was almost eerie.”  
“You miss me?”  
“I didn't say that.”  
“I missed you. Spent all day thinking about you.”  
“Yeah?”  
“How could I not? I was surrounded by irritants and naysayers.”  
“You bastard!” She turned to smack his arm but he caught her, laughing. 

Still smiling, he pulled her into a kiss, making her stretch to her toes to reach. Still miffed, she kissed him back, although she did have to admit it was funny.  
“You're the worst.”  
“I know, I know. Poor suffering Violet.”  
“You're lucky I tolerate you.”  
“I already told you,” pulling her close, he kissed her again, satisfied, “luck has nothing to do with it.”


	34. “Needing to hide from the bad guys” kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-schism AU

Glancing around frantically, she scanned the crowd, looking for god-knows-what, “Okay! Okay. We need to hide.”  
“Where!?” He whispered the word angrily through his grit teeth.   
“I don't know, we just-” glancing behind them, she took his hand, pulling him along.   
“How on earth did you fuck up so badly?”  
“Quiet! Not helpful, and not my fault!”  
“Absolutely your fault! Seriously, how do-” his words cut off as she skidded to a stop, gripping his arm to tug him the other way.  
“Dead end. Try again.”  
“If after everything I’ve lived through, I go down because of some rookie’s mistake-”  
“Not my mistake, and not my fault! Drop it!”  
“I’ll drop if it we get out, but until then-”  
“Then at least shut up and let me think!”   
“I swear to god-”  
“Here!” she tugged him through an open doorway into a kitsch and uncomfortably full bar.   
“You have GOT to be kidding.”  
“Not kidding.” Still dragging him along, she slid into an empty booth in the back, pulling him in after her.  
“And how the hell are we supposed to-”  
“Voice down. It’s fine.”  
“What part of this is fine? I swear, you-”  
“Look, they only saw me, okay? It’s fine!”  
“Fine?!” At her warning look, he lowered his voice back to an aggravated hiss, “How is it even remotely fine? Just so you know, I am NOT coming after your sorry ass if they find you!”  
“Would you just-” Suddenly she froze, her head cocked towards the door, “Shit-”  
“What-”   
She hit his arm as he began to turn to look. “Stop it!”  
“Okay, first of all, ow!” he gestured out, barely restraining himself from just handing her over.  
“Sorry, sorry! Okay, I’ll duck under the table-” As she talked, he glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the men start looking about the room.  
“Better plan.” Taking advantage of the opportunity fate had ordained fit to bestow him with, he grabbed her face, pulling her into a kiss. 

Surprised and more than a bit caught off guard as he interrupted her mid-sentence, she accidentally bit his lip, causing his fingers to tighten against her face.   
“Relax,” he muttered. Flustered, she did her best to unclench. Even if they didn’t recognize her, she didn’t need anyone to think they had to come to her rescue. Gingerly, she began to untense, and was quite surprised to find that the experience wasn’t entirely unpleasant. As horrible as he was as a partner, he wasn’t so bad as a kisser. Without entirely meaning to, her hand rested against his neck, pulling him towards herself. Carefully, he slid his own hand down to her side, easing her back until she was comfortably hidden in the shadows of the bar, tucked within the maze of vinyl-cushioned booths. The warmth of his palms seeped beneath her dress, flickering a primal instinct to get closer, to get more. It was undeniably nice, unbearably nice. And then his hand moved to the small of her back, and she felt her fingers tighten in his hair. He pressed firmer against her and she parted her lips, shoving down a moan. Not giving it any more thought, she let herself melt into his touch, into his care. His lips were so incredibly careful against hers, soft and uncharacteristically kind. The firm back of the seat pressed against her side, just uncomfortable enough to keep her present while also encouraging the fantasy of leaning back, letting his hands wander wherever they might. There was an unquestioned certainty to the way he held her, the way he moved her the way he wanted, to where he wanted. He kissed her lips, the flushed heat of him pulsing inside her, making her embarrassed at the swift quickness with which it was accomplished. He cupped her face, craned her neck, disastrously wonderful and perfectly lovely. The tip of her tongue itched to push past his lips, and just when she had made up her mind to do it, he broke the kiss, catching her breath to catch unevenly.  
“Okay?” His voice was low, warm.  
“I- Yeah.”  
“They’re gone?”  
“Oh,” she glanced over his shoulder, looking around. “Yes. They’re gone.”  
“Perfect,” relieved, he leaned back. “Sorry about that.”  
“No, sorry for… biting you.”  
“More than alright.” He smirked, running a hand through his hair. “You’re a pretty good actor. You ever look into theater?”  
“What? No.” She shook her head, trying to dislodge the lingering memory.  
“You should. Mechanics? Please. Your skills are being wasted.”  
“I wouldn’t say that.”  
“Someone should.” Still smirking, he glanced behind himself nonchalantly. “Alight, let’s go before we push our luck too far.”  
“Yes. Good. Thanks.”  
“Don’t mention it.” Standing, he took her by the hand, tugging her along behind him. Less than reluctantly, she followed.


	35. Public kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College AU, baby!

She wasn't jealous. She wasn't. It was acting, and shitty acting at that. She didn't care. And yet, she found herself with fists clenched, anger broiling within her.   
She applauded the show, only rolling her eyes when he couldn't see. He was elated, drinking in the applause, only letting his eyes dust over her for a moment, settling warm and mischievous before moving on. She felt her heart rise as a lump in her throat, choking her. 

“Seems you were the only one who cared for the extra credit,” he smirked, meeting her in the lobby of the playhouse.  
“There were others, I saw them at intermission.”  
“And they didn't care to stick around?”  
“Evidently not,” she shrugged, maintaining a facade of indifference.   
“Well. I look forward to reading your paper on tonight's performance.”  
“About that,” she, boldly, took his arm, letting him guide her through the adoring crowd. “I have an awfully busy weekend-”  
“Oh?” He cocked his eyebrow.  
“And was wondering if I could have an oral exam instead.” She looked away nonchalantly, as if she wasn't nymphood incarnate.   
“I suppose that could be arranged,” he smirked. “Really, I must commend your studious nature, Miss Baudelaire.”  
“Well, the subject is entertaining enough, if challenging.”  
“You have my sincere agreement,” he stopped to shake someone’s hand, smiling. 

She watched him, the vain creature, soaking in the praise. On the other side of the hall, the leading lady was accepting similar, if undeserved, praises. She fought the urge to scowl as some women tittered about him excitedly. A woman posed for a photo with him, touching his chest. Her heart burned within her. For once giving up the desire to act older than she was, she allowed herself her pettiness, stepping close to his side. He didn't protest, though he did take a moment to glance about the room.   
“Everything alright?” He spoke at a level only she could hear.   
“You'll have to pardon me if I'm not so keen on sharing,” she spoke the words through a smile, masking her true envy.   
“Don't deny me my laurels. I'm an artist, Darling.”   
“Should I leave you to your fans then?”  
“Come now. Let them have their fun.”  
“They can have theirs so long as they stay away from mine.”  
“I can’t decide if I should take you to shows more or less often.”  
Sighing, she let go of him. 

Going out was dangerous; they had to be careful. She, however, seemed intent upon throwing caution to the wind, reckless in her single-mindedness. It wasn't that he didn't want every person possible to see her in his company, but it did create the very real possibility of them being caught.  
“While I must admit I don't actually mind you jealous, don't go forgetting yourself.” he spoke to her without looking directly at her.  
“Why? Are you embarrassed to be seen with me?” Her voice was light, but the words were heavy.   
“Embarrassed? Never. Just a bit concerned about your utter lack of discretion.”  
“Discretion? Is there anything so terrible about a student and teacher conversing?”  
“Conversing? No. But you know I have little practice in denying myself my wants.”  
“Then I best hope none of the chorus girls strike your fancy.”  
“Oh, please. You're well aware I have a type.”  
“Which is?”  
“Nosy little bookworms.”  
“Really? You haven't a weakness for girls in short skirts?” Her hand brushed against his.  
“Of course I do, particularly when they’re both stubborn and relentlessly unkind.”  
“Am I unkind?”  
“Wearing that dress was very unkind indeed, knowing I'd not be able to touch you.”  
“Why not? Who's here to see?”  
Looking around, he realized she was quite right; it was a risk, but a calculated one. They were in a crowd of strangers. She bit her lip.   
Leaving his wits behind him, he caught her in his arms, smiling as he kissed her. Let people look, let them talk. She was his, the terrible little thing. 

“Better now?” He smirked as he broke the kiss.  
“Much,” smoothing his lapels, she eased off the balls of her feet, feeling satisfied if a bit silly.  
“Good,” lacing an arm behind her, he led her towards the door. “Now, about that exam.”


	36. True love kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a conglomerate of several AUs

“Thank you for the offer, but I'll just die instead.”   
“Seriously?” He cocked his eyebrow. “I understand that it's a long shot, but-”  
“No, I'm good.” Her breath hissed between her teeth as she felt the poison in her hand, the burn spreading to her wrist. She didn't have much time at all. Great, she was going to spend her last moments alive arguing. Perfect. Just perfect.   
“You're not even willing to try?”  
“Nope.”  
“You'd really rather die than even entertain the possibility? You're that stubborn?”  
“Absolutely.”  
“It might work!”  
“That is easily the worst case scenario.”  
“Well that's just rude.”  
“Look, either I have to die with the worst memory possible, or I live with the knowledge that-” she winced as the pain spread to her shoulder. “Just let me die with dignity, okay?”  
“This is unbelievable!”  
“I don't see why you're actively trying to make my last moments even worse.”  
“I hate you so much.”  
“If it makes you feel any better,” she opened her eyes, looking at him, “I can definitively say you were the bane of my existence.”  
“You really want those to be your last words to me?”  
“I'd much prefer to say nothing at all, but if this is my last chance,” she strained as the burn reached her chest, “I suppose you ought to know…” reaching up, she touched his cheek somberly, cradling it, “how incredibly untalented you are.”

“You know what? Fuck you!” Grabbing her head, he pressed his lips to hers roughly. Startled, she reacted quickly, smacking his arm. Not willing to let go until he had tried, or at least succeeded in pissing her off one last time, he held on.   
She continued to hit him as he broke the kiss, “You jerk! Now I have to die thinking about that!”   
“Serves you right. Besides, no one should die without knowing what it's like to kiss a genius.”  
“I won't miss you!”  
“You weren't exactly easy to deal with either.”   
“To be fair, you didn't give me much to work with.”  
“Handsome, talented, and charming? What part wasn't good enough for you?”  
“You're really going to make me, on my deathbed, listen to you bragging? I guess I'll die as a lived.”  
“Are you scared?”

She didn't expect the honesty of the question. She shrugged, “More pissed off than anything.”  
“Oh come on! You know I had to-”  
“Not just at you. It's…” she sighed, “it's kind of a bullshit way to go, isn't it?”  
“It absolutely is.” He leaned his weight back against his arm, sitting beside her. “Most things are.”  
“I can't believe I have to die like this.”  
“Would you prefer it if I left? Let you die alone in peace?”  
“No. It wouldn't be in peace, so you might as well stay.”  
“Are you going to haunt me?”  
“Not if I have any say in the matter.”

He smirked, amused. She was so consistent, even at the end. She closed her eyes. Gently, he began to stroke back her hair.   
“Can I ask you something?”  
“Who am I to deny you your last request?”  
“Did you really think that was going to work? Do you-”  
“Of course not,” he shook his head. “I have standards.”  
“Be honest.”  
“I am.” He paused, quiet. “Things will be so boring now.”   
She scoffed, smirking, “Missing me already?”  
“Who else is going to put so much effort into antagonizing me?”  
“I'm sure you'll find someone. You're a very dislikable man.”  
“Thank you for your kind words, but no. I'm afraid there's no one left that's quite my equal.”  
“You consider me your equal?”  
He hesitated. The girl was dying, what harm could the truth do now? “Yes.”  
“That's… actually incredibly kind of you to say.”  
“Yes, well,” he shrugged, “guess I'll just have to go uncontested from now on.” They sat in silence. He looked around the room, “No offense or anything, but, uh, how much time are we talking here?”  
“Seriously?”  
“I mean, is it mere seconds or days?”  
“Gee, sorry for not dying fast enough for you.”  
“I'm just wondering-”  
“What? You got some juicy line you're waiting until the last moment to share? Some big secrets to reveal?”   
“Do you want some?”  
“If you have them, sure.”  
“I'll try to think of something.”  
“I appreciate it.”  
“It's the least I can do.” Again, they lapsed into silence. He was just about to check her breathing when she spoke again.  
“You sure you won't miss me?”  
“I won't lie, my life is about to become drastically easier.”  
“Now you're just flattering me.”  
“No, I'm serious. For what it’s worth, you-” he paused, unsure how to carry the weight in his chest, “were the bane of my existence too.”   
“Wow. I suppose I really ought to give you more credit for trying to save me then.”  
“Oh, it was an entirely selfish motivation.”  
“Yes?”  
“I was just jealous that I didn't get to be the one who killed you.”   
She snorted, smiling, “Oh, of course.”  
“I suppose you were right though. God, what would we have done if it had actually worked? It would ruin everything.”  
“Everything?”  
“Everything.”  
Opening her eyes again, she looked up at him, sighing sadly, flexing her arm stiffly, “I suppose I have some bad news for you, then.”


	37. Lazy morning kisses before they even open their eyes, still mumbling half-incoherently, not wanting to wake up

“Oh god.”  
“Yeah.”  
“So bright.”  
“I know.”  
“Holy fuck,” he squinted against the light, feeling it radiate within his head as an explosion. “What time-”  
“Don't know.”  
“You?”  
“Survivable.” Sighing, she rolled onto her back, her eyes pinched. “How much-”  
“Don’t know.”

The light pulsed, burned. Still exhausted, she pressed her face to the crook of his neck, trying to garner some more darkness. Slowly, stiffly, he brought his hand up to pet the back of her head. Gently, he kissed the side of her face.   
“What time-”  
“Not till noon.”  
“Perfect,” he kissed her again. Lazily, she lifted her head enough to kiss him back. She smiled as she did so, still wincing against the early morning light.   
Sighing, he rubbed her shoulder, placing a limp arm over his eyes in a futile effort to darken the room.   
She hesitated, reluctant to shatter the silence. “Should we-”  
“No.”  
“Good plan.” Resigned to making a waste of the morning, she closed her eyes again, feeling his lips alight upon her forehead. “Coffee?”  
“Can’t you?” he groaned.   
“Please?” She kissed him again. “Pretty please?”  
“Fine.” Sitting up stiffly, he cradled his head. “You owe me.”  
“Thank you,” sinking back into the pillows, she rolled over, taking his spot, grateful for the soft warmth.


	38. Alternative "The End"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ko-Fi prompt for the lovely Eternallost who was kind enough to donate to my page! 
> 
> M rating finally earned below

“Too good to talk to me, orphan?”   
Still staring straight at her work, she did her best to ignore him. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could leave, the sooner she’d never have to see him again. “I don’t want to talk to you.”  
“Oh come now, don’t be so cold.” She watched him from her periphery as he walked over, crossing his arms, “It’s about time we became friends, don’t you think?”  
“We’re not friends.”  
“But we should be, don’t you think? Living in close quarters hasn’t endeared you to me even a bit?”  
“What the hell do you want?” She didn’t look at him, didn’t want to acknowledge him.   
He chuckled. “Distrustful, are we?”   
She didn’t like being alone with him. It wasn’t that she was afraid of him; here, they were on equal ground. There was nothing he could do to her without almost certainly being killed himself. No, it wasn’t fear. It was a sort of trepidation, a strange muffled siren ringing in her ears whenever he looked at her. As time had worn on, nothing had changed; he maintained a strange fixation, developing the annoying habit of intruding on her whenever possible. If she hadn’t already lived her life in the shadow of paranoia, it would be terrifying. It was strange, to see your fears justified and then all wiped away. He couldn’t hurt her without hurting himself, and so they reached what had ought to be regarded as a stalemate. He, however, insisted upon doing everything in his power to get himself as close to killed as possible. It was generally agreed he was a nuisance, an inconvenient fact of life. All the same, there was a certain edge to his brief conversations with that just didn’t exist between the others. He had never lost his predator instincts, still regarded her silently when he thought she wasn’t looking. Though she didn’t want to let him bother her any more than he already had, she’d be a liar if she said it didn’t keep her up at night.   
“Do you need something, or can I get back to my work?”  
“Need? No.” Lazily he leaned against the side of the boat, getting exactly in her way.   
She grit her teeth, “Well then. If you wouldn’t mind-”  
“It’s so quiet, don’t you think?” He glanced at her, a dark twinkle in his eye. She paused, listening. He was right; the silence of the day crept around her, made her aware of just how oppressively still it was. It wasn’t a big island; he wouldn’t be able to get away with anything, not really. Still, the isolation crawled along her skin, made thoughts dance along the back of her neck, zipping electric across her chest.  
“They’ll be back soon.”  
“Not for a few hours,” still putting on a show of great boredom, he began inspecting his nails.   
“If you think-”  
“I’m not going to hurt you, you know. I can see you wondering. You’re quite easy to read, you know,” his voice lilted, treacherous and teasing.  
“I’m supposed to believe you?”  
“If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done so by now.”  
“Gee, thanks,” her tone rang with arsenic disgust. He wasn’t wrong, though. He could have done anything by now; he certainly had time enough.  
“No need to be so cruel, dear. What would I gain from hurting you?” Sighing, he buffed his fingers against his shirt, looking at her again, “You are my favorite, after all.”  
“That isn’t a compliment.”  
“We have a lot in common, you and I.”  
“Now you’re just being mean.”  
“Feisty, are we? You know, there’s no one here for you to impress with that bravado. I for one am quite tired of it.”  
“Bravado?”  
“Let me give you a tip, one actor to another. You’re overselling it.” With a slow strut, he circled behind her.  
“I don’t know what you’re on about, but if you’re through torturing me-”  
“Am I really be so terrible that you can’t even speak to me?”   
“Do you want an honest answer?” Desperately, she tried to keep her voice from shaking.   
“Please, I'm sure we both can think of things much worse.”   
“That's not an endorsement.”  
He smirked, his fingers rolling individually over her shoulders until he was holding her firm between his hands. The faint call of sirens grew clearer, ringing in her ears, her heart racing. It was fear, she told herself; it was just fear. He couldn’t do anything, there was no need to be so afraid. She felt her skin flush.  
“Is it really so terrible to have to speak with me?” His voice was a low purr, rough in her ear. She could feel how close his lips drew to her face and shuddered.   
“Yes.”  
“See, I think you’re lying, Violet. I don’t think you think it’s so very terrible at all. As a matter of fact, I think you’re more afraid you’ll like it.” Slowly, his hand slunk up to her throat, his palm pressed warm and tight against the front of her neck.   
“You’re delusional.”  
“And you’re awfully nervous for someone who claims not to be afraid.”  
“I’m not.”  
“Why do you insist on making everything so difficult for yourself?.” He spoke the words against her skin. Embarrassed, she hoped he couldn't feel the pounding of her heart beneath his hand. “We've been here for so long. It's awful lonely, don't you think?” Determined to deny him, she stayed silent. “Things could be so much better if we worked together. Pooled our assets, in a way.”  
“What do you want?”  
“I want to make you happy, dear.”  
“Is that all?” Not bothering to hide the disbelief from her voice, she spoke with heavy animosity.   
He, frustratingly enough, simply chuckled, his grip growing tighter, “Of course not. Have you ever known me to be so altruistic?”  
“Then what are you after?”  
“I'm a simple man, Violet; a simple man with simple desires.”  
“You know there’s no way for me to claim my inheritance from here, so if you think-”  
“Oh, please. If you think that’s the only thing I want from you, you're a fool.”  
“What more could you possibly want?”  
“Don't be obtuse.”   
Her heart knocked against her, “I’m not being anything.” A gnarled fear sat heavy in her gut as he sighed.

“I thought you were supposed to be clever, but if you'd prefer the messy truth to the pleasantries of seduction, fine, have it your way. You want to know what I want, orphan?” Leaning in, he growled the words against her ear, tightening his grip, “I want to have my way with you, pretty thing.” Slowly, he drew his other hand around to her stomach, pressing her flush against his chest. “I want to lay you out and ravish you, want to know how you look when I'm inside you. In short,” testing her resolve, his hand began to drift upwards until he was delicately cupping the underside of her breast, fingers drawing soft patterns above the fabric, “I want to fuck you.” His voice hissed from between his teeth, the side of his face pressed to hers. She gasped, startled and somewhat alarmed as he ground his hips forward against her, still holding her firm.   
“I don't- You don't-” the words caught on her tongue, her thoughts hazy and liquid as his fingers ran over the peak of her breast. “You hate me.” The words came from a deep-seated festering place within her. He simply hummed his amusement.   
“Believe me, I'm well aware.”   
“And that doesn't bother you?”  
“To the contrary, I think you will find it makes things quite… cathartic.”  
“You're disgusting.”  
“Please, can you blame me? You ought to be flattered I managed as long as I did. Seems quite impossible, doesn’t it? Besides,” vampiric, he nipped her neck, smirking, “I’ve noticed you’ve yet to tell me to stop.”   
“You wouldn't listen.”  
“You haven't tried. Although,” bucking his hips forward again, he ground against her, “I'm not complaining. Like I said, things can get so very lonely here.” Her breath caught again as he ran his thumb over her breast, catching her in an unexpected bout of pleasure. Embarrassed at her easy reaction, she scowled. “No one says you have to like me,” his voice dripped honey-sweet, dulcet against her cheek, “just let me have my way. Let me make you feel very, very good.”  
“Big talk,” she managed to hiss from between her teeth.   
“And that's not all. I’ll make you a deal; you let me fuck you, I'll let you tell me how much you hate me while I'm making you come.”  
“You're sick.”  
“I don't judge, darling.” Spinning her quickly, he loped his hands behind her, gripping her ass as he walked her backwards towards the boat until she was pinned neatly against him. Swiftly, he kissed her, feeling the harsh edge of her teeth beneath her soft lips, the desire to ruin her burning all the more acutely within him.   
Pulling back much too late to be truly remorseful, she pressed her hands to his chest, pushing him away, “But don't-”   
He interrupted her unnecessary questions, shushing her softly. “Don't worry, orphan. Just sit back, enjoy yourself, and let me take care of the rest.” Punctuating the sentiment, he lifted her, placing her upon the edge of the boat. Sliding his hands beneath her knees, he snapped her forward until he was pressed between her parted legs, the two of them chest to chest, his lips still on her mouth.   
“You're wicked,” her words were muffled as she turned her face away.   
“Very much so,” he kissed her throat, “Does that excite you, Violet?”  
“No,” her voice was small, low. She was close to breaking.   
“Are you sure?” He slid his hands up her thighs, letting them tuck beneath the skirt of her dress. “Virtuous and noble Violet, always nice, always proper, always a good girl.” She shivered as his fingers wandered further up, brushed at her hips. “And now here you are, alone with a bad man. A wicked man, you said? I can be wicked, that's okay.” Airily, he drew his fingers in until he was brushing lightly between her legs. Her breath stuttered. “So why don't you be a good girl for me, and let me have my wicked way?”

“No, it's not right.” Her eyes were shut tight, palms sweaty as she gripped his shirt.   
“No?” She could hear that he was smiling, but then his lips were brushing against her neck again, his tongue warm on the hollow of her throat. “How can you be so sure if you haven't even tried? Give me the chance, and I'll make it feel very, very right.” Emboldened, he pressed his warm hand between her legs. The delicate heat of his fingers sank into her bones, tittered shrill and uncertain within her stomach. She gasped and he, feeding off her reaction, took the response as praise. “There we go, that's better.” Still kissing her neck, he began to rub at her in smooth circles over the cloth, a pleased rumble growing in his chest as she tightened her grip against him. “That's a good girl.” She whimpered, afraid and disgusted at the ease with which he coaxed blissful enjoyment from her, made her own body traitor against her. She wanted to want him to stop, wanted to hate it, but simply didn’t. He seemed to know it too, gloating his power over her. 

Gently, he began to tug at her waistband, urging her forward enough to allow him to slip her underwear over her thighs, down her legs. Her fingers grew sharp against him, stiff and afraid.  
“Relax,” he spoke the words with a contented purr against her reddened skin. “This won't hurt a bit.”   
She shuddered as he touched her, a gasp parting her teeth. Still gentle, still restrained, he ran his fingers along her, noting with pride that despite her protests to the contrary, she was very excited indeed. Half-heartedly, he tried to suppress the nearly overwhelming desire to simply bend her over then and there, feel her fold beneath him. Listening to her sharp gasps, he drew in a deep breath, gritting his teeth against the urge. She would be so easy to have, to hurt.  
Slowly, he pressed a finger inside her, leaning back to watch her face. She didn't disappoint, lips parting to reveal her pink tongue, eyes downcast. Gentle, he began to steadily thrust it inside her, amused when her perfect lip caught between her teeth as she momentarily forgot herself. But then she was shutting her eyes again, her brow furrowed, and he couldn't help but smirk at her stubbornness.   
“Just let go.” He kissed the side of her face, amused when she turned away. Still careful, he began to pick up speed, glad when she groaned involuntarily, the sound followed by the so very charming flush of her skin. “Relax. Let yourself enjoy it.” 

He kissed her again, his lips tasting of stale liquor as softly, he began to press another finger inside her. Gasping, she felt her breath catch in her throat as he began thrusting in deep, rhythmic pulses.   
He smiled, watching her, and she couldn't meet his eyes. Her hands shook, bones threatening to combust.   
“See?” He spoke in a patronizingly placating murmur. “Us bad men aren't so terrible.”  
“You are.” She managed the words through clenched teeth, but he simply cocked his eyebrow, smiling.  
“Am I now? You must like your men bad then, with how nice and wet you got for me.” A shine grew in his eye as his smirk turned into a smile. “You’ve imagined this before, haven't you, Violet? Imagined what it would feel like to be ruined by a bad man?” She didn't want to dignify him with an answer, but he took her silence as answer enough. “Tell me, when you imagine it, do you imagine yourself riding me, my cock already inside you, or do you prefer the thought of me bending you over and just having my way?”   
“You're despicable.”  
“A third option, then? Maybe you like the thought of me pushing you up against a wall?”  
“Enough!”  
“Or do you like it like this, me between your legs, laying you out and fucking you so that you can see my face, know it's me?”  
“Oh my god-” her grip tightened again, lips parting as she rode through the orgasm that tumbled out of her. He didn't stop, continuing until she was leaning breathless against his shoulder.  
“See? Not so terrible at all.” He spoke the words against the side of her face. “Bad men can be quite useful, especially for pretty orphans.”  
“I don’t-” she began to speak, but smirking, he shushed her. Gingerly, he drew his hand up, placing his fingers in his mouth, drawing them out slowly with a popping sound.  
“You're lost in the woods now, Little Red, and I may just have to eat you whole.”   
She shivered, feeling very caught indeed as he wrapped his arms behind her, drawing her towards him, onto the ground. Pivoting her, he untied the back of her dress with a swift tug, followed by the snap of the button at the nape of her neck. Without waiting any longer, he gripped the skirt of her dress, tugging the fabric up and over her head. Just as quickly, he was holding her against himself as he ground his hips forward, pinning her against the boat’s edge. She could feel his erection, stiff and imposing against her, his hand tucking again between her legs. Her knees buckled ever so slightly as she pressed her hands to the edge, trying to keep her balance. Evidently having run out of patience, his other hand came around her, gripping her breast. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, her ear, groaning his pleasure against her skin.  
“Careful,” she winced as he held her breast too tightly, pinching the skin.  
“Of course,” he muttered the words against her, slipping his hand beneath the fabric of her bra, sliding it off over her shoulders. His touch against her naked skin was static electric pulsing, a living network communicating desperate signals to the warm need pulsing inside her. He tucked his fingers between her legs, began rubbing at her again with frantic circles. She arched her back, cried out, felt her fingers tremble against the wood. His teeth pinched at her skin, his satisfaction evident as she unspooled, let him make her liquid marrow under his touch.   
She panted, her chest heaving with exhausted breath as he finally removed his fingers, catching her chin as he roughly kissed the side of her face.   
“Still think I’m entirely unkind? Entirely selfish?”  
“Yes,” she managed the word with some difficulty.  
“Well then. I'm offended, honestly. Do you really think it’s easy for me to prolong my own pleasure?” He stepped back ever so slightly, and then there was the sound of the metal of his belt, the hand gripping her chin still keeping her in place. “I'm not used to not getting what I want.”  
“Perhaps you should be.”  
“It would have been easy, you know,” he continued as if she hadn’t interrupted. She could feel the rhythmic brush of the back of his hand as he began to stroke his erection, pressing his chest to her. “Unbelievably easy,” his voice was a hiss against her ear. She shuddered. “Not as fun, though. Is that how you imagined it? Me, crawling beneath your blankets at night, slipping between your legs?” 

He leaned forward ever so slightly, feeling her bend beneath his weight. He smiled. “Or perhaps you spent some of those hours, hours you told us you were hard at work, touching yourself in here, wishing I would come in and take what I wanted. Is that what you want, orphan?”  
“No,” her voice was soft, quiet.   
“Speak up,” turning her face, he made her look at him, surprised to see resolve still lingering in her gaze.  
“No. Why would you assume I'd ever have a fantasy about you losing control?”  
“Control?” He smirked, delighted. “Interesting word choice. What do you want, then?” Leaning down, he pressed his lips to her naked chest, letting his tongue slide over her. His teeth grazed against her erect nipple, pulling a soft groan out from deep within her. He kneaded the tender skin, leaving a trail of purple rosebuds in his wake.   
“I- I don’t-” Her words were interrupted as she cried out, a whine spooling in the back of her throat.  
“Don’t bother lying, it’ll only make things more unpleasant for you.”   
“Something more careful. Not so rough.”  
“Something more careful,” he repeated her words back to her, tasting them. “You want me to make love to you, orphan?”  
“Don't say that!” She flushed, irate and embarrassed.   
“Good, we’re making some progress,” elated, he kissed her again. “Don't worry, dear, I'll fuck you nice and slow.” As he kissed her, he felt her trembling hands clutch his shirt. “Is that what you want?” She didn't reply, whimpering against his lips instead. Slowly, he began to unbutton his shirt, letting his clothes hang loose about him.   
Stepping forward, he moaned as his erection pressed against her leg. She gasped, allowing him the space to slide his tongue into her mouth. His hand pressed firm to her naked breast, relishing the sensation of soft skin, her complete surrender.   
“Slow,” she groaned, craning her neck.  
“Of course. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” Gently, he began to press himself inside her, feeling her tense at the sensation. “Relax,” he hissed between his teeth, feeling the way her arms tightened against him.

Desperately, she tried to force herself to relax. He pushed further inside her and she gasped, hands catching behind his neck.  
“Shh, you're alright,” he spoke quietly, his voice strained. “You're fine.” The moment her breathing evened, he pressed further in, drawing a whimper from deep inside her, her back arching up to meet him. His breath shook as he slid further in, smiling at her reaction. For a terrifying moment she wondered how he could possibly fit, considered telling him to stop, but then he thrust the remainder of the way inside her with a moan, causing her to cling to him, crying out. “There we go, good girl,” he groaned the words against her face. “Nice and tight and wet for me.”   
She groaned again as he began to thrust in short, slow strokes. She could feel him moving inside her, filling her, stretching her. She whimpered, prompting another shush as his fingers came back down betwixt her legs, stroking her lovingly. “Such a pretty little thing.” And then his strokes became faster, his thrusts gradually getting deeper as he sped up. She gasped, her hands still clutching his arms, unwillingly enjoying the tight way he held her. 

He tried to memorize every sensation, every moment. She kissed him back, let him press his tongue behind her teeth, surrendered to him. Her hands touched his naked skin, breasts delightfully soft against his chest as she gasped, moaning her pleasure. She was his, finally his. After years of wanting, he finally had her. And she was delicious, victory sugar-sweet on his tongue as she cried out, breathless and bare before him. He let his hands wander her body, finally satiating his near-constant desire, the curiosities that had itched in the back of his mind. She clung to him, her thighs pressing to his waist, uninitiated, unadulterated. He loved the thought of ruining her. Roughly, he shoved his tongue further into her mouth, wanting to taste her surrender.   
“How does it feel, Violet? How does it feel to let yourself be fucked by a bad man?” She didn't respond, her grip on him tight. “How does it feel knowing I won? Knowing you spread your pretty little legs for my cock?” He tangled his fingers in her hair, craned her neck back so that she had to look at him, “Knowing you'll spend the rest of your life wanting the man you hate to fuck you?”  
Her eyes shone dark, her voice low, breathy as she spoke, broken up by the jagged rhythm of their bodies,“If I hated you so much, I wouldn't be here. Face it, here, you don’t matter nearly as much as you think.” He growled, his teeth grit tight in anger. She laced her hands behind his neck, cried out, let her nails dig into his skin. When she pressed the side of her face to his, her breath was warm against him, “How does it feel to finally be irrelevant?”   
“Damn you!” he hissed the words against her shoulder. But then it was too late, and clenching his fingers, he came. His climax arrived without his consent, gave her the last word on the matter. Well, she could say whatever she wanted; she'd still be speaking to the man who fucked her. He'd win eventually. 

She sighed as he pulled out, surprised to find her muscles already relaxed, delightfully unwound. Slowly, he released her, both of them blinking into the light of what had just transpired. Removing his fingers from her hair, he tucked a strand behind her ear.   
“Watch your mouth,” he spoke quietly, tilting her chin up to kiss her lips, “or I might just have to make use of that smart tongue of yours.”   
His words sent shivers down her spine, delicious warm shivers that lodged in her throat. She tucked the memory away to be recounted later. “We'll see. I may not be so kind the next time you come begging.”  
“That’s where we differ. Because I’m just so charitable, you can come beg me to fuck you anytime.” He perused her smugly, “I’d be happy to provide a warm bed for any pretty little orphans who happen to find their way into my room.”

“You seem awfully certain.”  
“Yes, well,” he smirked, cold and amused, “call it fate, darling. All I know is that even good girls get lonely sometimes.” Dropping his hand, he cocked his eyebrow, smirking. “And when you do, I’ll be here.”  
“It doesn’t mean anything, you know.”  
“Of course not. So what’s stopping you?” he began to resituate his clothes, gratified.   
“The thought of sleeping with someone so heinous.”  
“Of course. You keep touching yourself and telling yourself that. When you’re done lying,” he unrolled his sleeves, straightening his collar, “you know where to find me.” Pivoting slowly, he walked out of the room, unable to keep the satisfied smile off his face.


	39. New Years Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-schism AU

“Not having fun?”  
“Galas are boring,” she shrugged.   
Chuckling, he leaned against the wall beside her, surveying the crowd, “For a girl your age? Well then, what hope is there for the rest of us?”   
Taking the glass of champagne he proffered, she took a sip, “If we're supposed to carry it, then you really ought to let young women plan it.”  
“Oh?” Smirking, he regarded her, taking back his glass, drinking thoughtfully. “And if you had planned the party, what might it look like?”   
“More places to sit, for one. Less open space. Makes you feel like you have to talk to people.”  
“Don't like being sociable?”  
“Not with everyone.”  
“Should I take that as a hint to go?”  
“No,” she glanced at him, “You can stay.”  
“Consider me honoured,” he handed the champagne back to her.   
Smiling, she scoffed before accepting the offer, taking another drink. “Don't have friends your age?”  
“Unsurprisingly, no.”  
“Unsurprisingly?”  
“Adults are boring, Violet.” Taking the glass back, he finished it off.   
“Am I really so much more vastly entertaining?”  
“Always.”  
“I'll accept the compliment.”  
“Shall I get us another glass?” he held up the empty glass.   
“Want to scout out a place to sit first?”  
“Absolutely,” he smiled. 

Three glasses later, he was doing his damndest to remember himself. She, for her own part, was making the effort nearly impossible, what with the way she leaned back into the red sofa, the picture of enticement. Her skirt fell over her crossed legs, the soft fabric folding close to her skin. He briefly imagined how it would look should he push her into the fountain, but quickly gave over that train of thought, deeming it too dangerous.   
Sighing, she pushed her hair back, swirling her glass lazily, “Not to be a broken record, but I disagree.”  
“Surprising no one.”  
“Hey,” she glanced at him, a twinkle in her eye, “it's not my fault you're easy to disagree with.”  
“Fair enough.” When she looked away, he gifted himself a moment of staring, soaking in the beautiful expanse of bare skin around her neck. “You know, I can't remember the last time I saw you dressed up.”  
“Couldn't have been more than a few months.”  
“It's a good look on you.”  
“Not very practical.”  
“Beauty rarely is.” He saw the bridge of her nose flush ever so slightly at his comment. “I'm curious as to how you’d behave outside of work.”  
“We're never outside work.”  
“And therein lies the tragedy, damned to a professional relationship.”  
“As opposed to?”  
“Given the chance, don't you think we might be friends?”  
She scoffed again, “If we weren't stuck together, you'd never have even spoken to me.”  
“That's not true.”  
“No?” Cocking her eyebrow, she smiled, “What would you have said? Play it out for me.”  
“Now you're just teasing, Miss Baudelaire. I thought we taught you better than that.”  
“If I've learned anything from you, it isn't manners.”  
“Evidently.”  
“I'm serious, though. If we weren't co-workers, what would you think of me?”  
“For starters, I think calling yourself my co-worker is a bit ambitious. You're more of an underling, three or four times removed. Second, I'd think,” he perused her thoughtfully, “that you were a very dangerous woman.”  
“Dangerous how?”  
“That's the fun part of danger, finding out.”

When he smiled at her, his characteristic “I know more than you” toothy smile, she felt her gut twist with the visceral memory of the bar, the dark. She remembered his hands. Trying to laugh off the vestigial shivers, she shook her head lightly.   
“You're strange.”  
“Do you like strange?” The way he leaned against the sofa created the perfect pocket of space for her to fit beside him.   
Resisting the urge to fold into his side, she simply smiled, “Do you like dangerous?”  
“I've been known to partake.”  
“I could say the same.”  
“Well then,” he lifted his glass in a private toast, “to the New Year. May it be both dangerous and strange.”  
“I thought you didn't like gala formalities.”  
“No, but one can be persuaded if their company is tolerable enough.”  
Their conversation was interrupted by the chiming of the clock, midnight evidently having waited just long enough for him to send it off. She glanced around at the cheering others, taking a breath.  
“In that case, would you consider your company tolerable enough for one last formality?”  
“It would be bad luck not to.”

Meeting her halfway, he kissed her perfect lips, letting his hand brush against her hair. The kiss was brief, broken all too quickly after it began, but still the sensation lingered, caught up within him amongst the spilled champagne.   
How entirely dangerous and strange, he thought, noticing anew how her hands fluttered, tensing and untensing against the seat. How completely and damningly dangerous and strange.


	40. Game of Thrones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Game of Thrones: Arranged Marriage AU  
> Ko-Fi commission for the lovely testingforcake23

She hadn’t cried during the wedding, for that she was grateful. The ceremonies of it all had been rushed faster than they ought to be, eager to solidify the union and the assumption of the house. She had always been told she was due for a grand wedding, or at least an enjoyable one, being generally regarded as pretty enough to marry well and her station guaranteeing that she would at least marry into a family with power. But this? This was unforeseen, unreasonable. She had stared at him, the traitorous bastard, hating the smugness of his smile. This wasn’t what she had wanted. The marriage itself was an embarrassment, an affair that likely would have been swept under the rugs of family history if not for the power that came along with it. She had never been vain enough to think she’d rise terribly high in status, but to have it all come about in such a manner? It was nauseating. In theory, it was an excellent path for her; the sole lady of a vassal house, no threats of potential disputes as to heirs. It was a clean slate, provided by the utter extermination of the Reynes. Or rather, almost utter. He, for his own part, mostly watched her in silence, keeping his mouth shut when he ought to, agreeing to plans laid out before him for the sake of saving his own head. For a moment she had considered running off, thinking even death would be a better alternative, but in the bleak face of it she had been unable to commit. No, she would do what she was raised to do, what she had to do. She would obey, would secure this union if only for the sake of her family.

Even as they dressed her hair, she had heard her ladies whispering stories they had heard, about him, about his late family. Stories about how they had been animals, dangerous and terrible, how they were little more than an infestation, horrifying and revolting. She wanted to throw up, wanted to die, but watching her crying reflection, steeled herself. She wouldn’t break for him. If nothing else, she would be his hell.

 

As far as punishments went, he could think of plenty worse. Still nursing the wretched wound of his complete and utter loss, he had been shocked to see such a pretty young thing brought to the wedding hall. Truly, he had expected someone more… well, challenging. She was still young enough to break, still fresh and not hardened by any real acquisition of power. Just looking at her, he could see all the animosity she held clear in her dark eyes. It almost made him laugh, how readily she hated him. And such a small thing too, drowned in the expanse of the wedding cloak that surrounded her. With any luck, she’d remain just as silent, would be terrified enough to stay in her place; that’s what her hatred was, at the heart of it, just fear. He wondered if that was as clear to her as it was to him. She stood stone-still, a perfect mirror of the lifeless state behind her, save for the eyes. Her hands shook as he took them, gripping her tighter than necessary. If she was his lifeline, he was going to do everything in his power to make sure she didn’t escape. She would be his, now and forever, until the end of time, and as such he would be spared his life, would be allowed to live in the dark shadow of shame. That wasn’t a problem, though; he was well-equipped to climb up from nothing. It was in his blood to lust.

 

When he kissed her, it was tight, joyless. He seemed more concerned with getting it done than anything. That at least was a small relief; she hadn’t wanted to be embarrassed any more than she already was. The banquet was smaller than it ought to be, again only emphasizing the haphazard nature of the union, the general agreement that it was an unpleasant reality. No one else seemed to mind, though, too grateful that it wasn’t their problem. She sat beside him, hating him, hating the way he had snatched her future out from beneath her. As the eldest daughter, it had been her responsibility to secure a profitable alliance, but this? Now her family had to to navigate the treacherous waters of his association. Maybe they could spin it into a tale of loyalty, of the fidelity of the members of their line. She stared vacantly across the hall, wondering how any of this could possibly be alright ever again.

 

His heart having calcified long ago, he wasn’t too concerned with the implications of the union outside of how it profited him. He wouldn’t forget how he had been wronged, but if it saved him to fight another day, he could fake humility long enough to lick his wounds. He watched her face, still stone cold, still pale, the color of her lips dark against her countenance. Pity he hadn’t had a chance to saver the kiss, too busy making sure she didn’t ruin it. He wouldn’t give her the chance to jeopardize him. No matter how badly it hurt, he needed to survive. It was what he was built to do.

 

The loud ringing of the halls came to a complete and utter silence as the door was shut behind them, leaving her dizzy with terror in the quiet of the marriage chamber. She froze, feeling the ground beneath her feet, half-ready to run at a moment’s notice. He, for his own part, began to walk the perimeter of the room, examining the decor. 

“Not bad. And they call us vain.”

“Vain enough to die for it.” As soon as she spoke, he fixed his eyes upon her, their brightness shining in the dark.

“I’d nearly forgotten you could speak. Tell me,” giving the wall one last cursory glance, he began to walk towards her, “is it even worth getting acquainted at his point, or do you plan on remaining a silent little rabbit for the rest of your life?”

“I’m not afraid of you.” She hated how terrified the words made her sound.

He smiled, showing his teeth, “Have I given you reason to be? So skittish. Are all of you such cowards?”

“If you think they won’t kill you-”

“Please, who is there to betray me? My little mouse of a wife?” Laughing, he turned away from her, removing his cloak, dropping it upon a chair.

“I will. You owe respect to-”

“I owe nothing to no one. I think you’ll figure that out quite soon.” Turning, he regarded her again, glancing up and down over her frame, “So tell me, what’s the terrible secret?”

“Terrible secret?”

“I’m assuming you’re meant to be some sort of an embarrassment to the house. You’re a whore, aren’t you?” Leaning against the bedpost, he pointed towards her meaningfully. 

Angered, she felt her face flush, “Absolutely not! I am a virtuous member-”

“A bastard child?”

“No! I have full right to the blood of my family, and I-”

“A thief? Slave? Carrying the bastard son of one of the highborn men?” He cocked his eyebrow, prompting her with open palm.

“No! None of that!”

“Then what’s the secret? The trick?”

“The greater trick is upon me, marrying me to a traitor!”

“You’re not coming from some form of lowly disgrace?”

“You are the lowly disgrace!”

“Lowly? You’re marrying up, my dear. My,” he smirked, standing slowly before sauntering over to her, “yours is a generous liege, isn’t he? The price of my head is a pretty little noble girl’s hand?” Saying so, he took her hand in his own, kissing her fingers. “Tell me, how did you come to be so lucky? Or did you have to fight for the honor?”

“Being raised with honor as I was,” she pulled her hand away, disgusted, “I was ready to do what I must for my liege.”

“He really must not like you.”

“It’s not a matter of preference. I perform the duties of my station, nothing more.”

 

“Curious,” he smiled, looking over her again. “I’m sensing you aren’t too happy about that.”

“I do what I must.”

“That should make this union easier,” he, more than a bit excited at the prospects, allowed himself to relax into his attraction to her. She wasn’t so much trouble after all. Poor girl, she had just managed to land herself in the wrong spot, and he was ready to take every advantage of the fact.

“Rather, I do what I must when I’m told by those with rightful authority,” she glared at him vindictively. 

Unable to stop himself, he laughed, “Oh, upset, are we?”

“You come from an ignoble line of traitors and usurpers. You’ll pardon me for not being thrilled at the match.”

“And there’s the rub. I knew there was a greater secret hidden somewhere.” Still smirking, he regarded her, “You’re a problem, aren’t you?”

“No so much a problem as infidelity to the House.”

“And this is my punishment, then? A nosy wife?” He smirked, tilting her chin up, forcing her to look at him. Irritated, she pushed his hand away but he caught her wrist, holding it tight. “Well. No problem that can’t be solved.”

“If you try to strike me I’ll scream,” she glared at him, trying very hard not to shake.

“Please do, if it will make you feel any better. What good do you think it would do you, really?”

“You still live upon my lands.”

“Your lands? What a vain thing you are, no wonder they were so ready to see you off.”

“You answer to my liege, and-”

“Your liege,” he stepped closer, his voice dropping low, “is not here right now.”

“If you think-”

“You’re not used to not having your pride, are you?” he smiled, cold and curious, “I see now. They give me the brat, solve two problems at once. How long have they been trying to be rid of you?”

“You’re eager to speak to things you don’t understand.”

“I was a godsend, wasn’t I?” he pinched her chin between his fingers, drawing his face close enough for her to feel the warmth of his breath. “With a tongue like that, they never dreamed they could marry you up, did they?”

“You cannot speak to me that way,” she hated the tremble in her voice.

“Oh, but I can. You answer to me now.” He paused, drinking in her expression, “How does that feel?”

 

To his surprise, tears began to prick at the corner of her eyes. For the first time, she stopped being an enemy to be broken, dissolving into a terrified girl. He loosened his grip. 

“Oh come now. Didn’t anyone ever tell you you were only a pawn for power? This can't be news to you.” Looking away, she refused to meet his eyes, glaring down at the floor. “Or did you really think your life would always be gardens and banquets in your parents’ halls?” Still silent, she didn’t even try to brush her tears away, letting them fall into small droplets upon the ground. “As far as matches go, you could have done much worse,” he chided her, cupping her face in his hands, once again directing her gaze towards himself. “I’ll keep you in your comforts. Certainly, such a pretty thing deserves a gilded cage.”

“Is that all you think I care about?” her voice rang with disdain.

“Perhaps. I wonder though, at how long you think I’ll put up with this disagreeableness. You ought to know I don’t like things getting in my way. And seeing as the entirety of your role is to get in my way,” he breathed in, tracing a thumb along her jaw, “we’ve already met an impasse.” 

“What, then? You’ll kill me?” she stepped back from his touch. 

Smirking, he folded his hands behind his back, examining the room impartially, “My, what stories your ladies must have told you.” He smiled, enjoying the discomfort evident in her frame. “Let me guess--do I also drink the blood of virgins and sleep among the dead? Or, is there a secret chamber within my room, stuffed full of nosy wives who met their untimely end?” 

“You oversell yourself,” her voice was pinched, afraid.

“I assure you,” stepping forward, he laced his arms behind her, pulling her towards his chest, “I’m not quite as horrid as all that. In fact, should you learn your place, I believe you’ll find I’m not so very horrid at all.”

“You’ll always be horrid. And you will be held to your actions someday.”

“Held how, exactly? Will they reward me with another brat?” Smirking, he dragged his hand along her side, feeling the richness of the fabric of her dress. She shuddered. “Is that my grand punishment? What does that say about you, then? Poor little Lady Violet, played by all the rules, curtseyed at all the right times, and still ended up in my marriage bed. Do you see what good behavior gets you?”

“I do what I must for my liege,” tears stood in her eyes again as she looked away, trying to hide them.

“Your liege has made you sacrificial lamb among the wolves, dear. There are no rules, only consequences. And it looks like yours took a turn against plan.” Gripping her cheek again, he pressed his face to hers, kissing her pouting lips. She stiffened, her hands caught against his chest, but he didn’t let go, refused to stop until he needed to pull back for air. “Call us disloyal all you like, but we died rather than bow before a man we saw as weak. Loyalty is only owed to yourself, so lucky for you, you’ve managed such a fine match. What fate, allowing you to rise with me,” he kissed her again. “Don’t worry. Once we have what is ours,” slowly, he moved his hand down her neck, over her chest, to her side, “you can make them pay for what they thought they did to you.” 

 

As he kissed her neck, trailing his lips down to her shoulder, she found his words unexpectedly sweet in her thoughts. The man had a silver tongue, was capable of bending truth. She felt herself being walked back towards the bed, his traitorous mouth still kissing her own, blasphemous and more powerful than she had been prepared for.


	41. Bad Decisions, the Remix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Indulgent College AU because it's blatantly my favorite and I have no shame

She was still mad the next day, still annoyed. All class long she stared at him, irritation making her cold with contempt. Oblivious as ever, he continued droning on, his lecture absolute torture. He wouldn't even look at her, didn't want to acknowledge her. She wondered if he was as upset as she was. Probably not; the man was too vain to care about anybody else. Having had enough of his smug attitude, she raised her hand.

“Yes, Miss…?”

She grit her teeth. The bastard. “Baudelaire.”

“Yes, Baudelaire. Do you have a question?”

“A correction.”

“Oh?” He cocked his eyebrow. She nodded stiffly.

“You said the role of the daughter was to redeem her father's mistakes.”

“Yes?”

“That's incorrect. Her role is to further the narrative. She can't redeem him because she’s written entirely within his shadow, and once she isn't, she takes every opportunity to make different choices than he did. She doesn't actually care about his legacy, she's just doing right by herself.”

“Well, that's certainly an interpretation. An incorrect one, but I'm glad to see you thinking analytically.” 

She felt her face burn at his words. She didn't actually care about the play, she only wanted to show him up. It was about so much more than her reading, it was about principle, about his status as an insufferable ass. Tense, she interrupted as he began to speak again, “Setting aside the misogyny of the writing, when you examine the text it's the most legitimate reading of the play.”

“I can see why you would think that, but you cannot remove the piece from its original historical context. She only makes sense as a continuation of her father. It's a novice mistake, perfectly acceptable for a student to make, but now you know better. Now, I hope you've all remembered your essays are due next week, so-”

Quickly, she raised her hand, shoving down the thoughts warning her that this was a bad idea.

“You have something else to add, Miss Baudelaire?” His gaze was tired, irritated. 

She took another deep breath. “That's a rather uneducated interpretation, don’t you think?” She saw him freeze and felt momentarily elated with the knowledge that she had successfully pissed him off. “Care to rephrase that?”

“Of course, sorry. That's a rather BAD interpretation. Is that better?”

The class fell silent, each person holding a collective breath. She could see his jaw tighten.

“Do you mean to tell me that you feel confident enough in your very novice abilities to disregard my professional opinion in entirety?”

“That depends. Is the entirety of it just as bad?” As soon as she said it, she knew she had crossed a line. Instantly, she regretted it, wanted to take it back, but even more so, she felt drunk off her success. It was much too late to back down now. “Do you find having bad opinions gets in the way of your professional career? Or do they go hand in hand?”

Livid, he stood, pressing his hands to his desk, “Enough!” He looked so angry, for a brief moment she considered publicly apologizing, slinking away defeated. It would only make things worse though; she had created this hell, and now she must endure it. “Miss Baudelaire, if you would be so kind, I would like to have a word with you after class!”

“Alright,” she muttered, heart still racing from her shock of adrenaline. 

“Pardon? I didn’t quite catch that.”

“Yes, Professor.” 

“Now, if no one else has anything to add to the curriculum?” he paused, looking around the room, holding the silence for longer than necessary. “No? Alright. I’ll see the rest of you Thursday.” 

Eager to escape, the rest of the students scurried out as tentatively, she stood, sliding her books into her bag.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to-” 

Snapping a hand up, he silenced her. Shutting the door, he paused, and then, just as quiet, locked it. The click resonated in her gut, tumbled inside her. When he turned to face her, it was with a glowing anger in his eyes, “Do you enjoy trying to make a fool of me, Miss Baudelaire?”

“No, I didn’t-”

“Or do you just like seeing how completely aggravating you can become?”

“Listen! I just-”

“Not. Another. Word!” Holding his hand up again, he silenced her with a motion so sharp she quickly decided it would be rather to her benefit to just let him finish. “No matter our… personal relations, in this classroom, I am still your figure of authority and I expect you to treat me with respect. In here, you do not interrupt. You do not argue. You do not start petty quarrels for the sake of being a brat. Do not bring it into my classroom. Understood?”

Embarrassed at both her juvenile behavior and the reprimandation, she looked away, not wanting to meet his eyes, “Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, Professor. Sorry.” She flushed, embarrassed. He was right. She hated when he was right.

“Good. Now,” he began to undo the clasp of his belt, pulling it open. “On your knees, Miss Baudelaire.” 

“Excuse me?”

“On. Your knees.” Slowly, she lowered herself, feeling the uncomfortably gritty carpet beneath her. “Good.” Standing in front of her, he tilted her chin up, looking down at her. “Now, be a good little co-ed and open your mouth for me.” He began pressing his thumb between her lips, waiting until she opened her mouth, letting him press it to her tongue slowly, closing her lips around his finger. He scowled in an effort to hide a smile, furrowing his brow as, watching her, he pulled down the waist of his pants, palming himself beneath his suit.

 

Taking his time, he began to stroke his quickly stiffening arousal, savoring the view. She looked up at him, uncharacteristically quiet as pulling his cock out, he began to stroke it. Having imagined the sight before him hundreds of times, he didn’t have much work to do. She didn’t say anything else, cautiously restraining a smirk as he stroked himself a few more times before tilting her head back, placing the tip of his erection on her tongue. Pleased with herself, she closed her lips around him, humming a quiet sound which he assumed was meant to further tease him. Tangling his hand within her hair, he tightened his grip, sliding himself further into her mouth. Gingerly, she brought her hand up, wrapping her fingers around his shaft, taking a deep breath as groaning, he gave a shallow thrust, his breath hissing between his teeth. She tensed, slowly sliding her fingers along his length, trying to meet his depth as he gave another thrust. Whining against the strain, she eased back, taking a moment before allowing him to push in.

“Funny, you were so eager with that smart mouth earlier.”

She simply looked up at him, her eyes dark and wide, damningly innocent as carefully, she eased further down, groaning as he tightened his grip. Slowly, she began to pump with her hand, watching him questioningly. 

“That’s better, there we go,” he grit his teeth as she slid her tongue along the underside of his cock.

Pulling back, she moved her lips over the tip with a pop, “Forgive me yet?”

“I’m deciding. Don’t stop.”

“Alright,” she smiled, moving her fingers across his length, slowly sliding her tongue along the underside of his erection.

“Alright, what?” his words were strained, just barely shoved from between his teeth. 

“Alright, Professor.”

“Better, Miss Baudelaire. You’re learning.” He smiled despite himself, running his fingers through her hair, pushing it back. Smirking, she leaned forward to take him back into her mouth, moving slowly over him. She was all delightful wet warmth, her hand soft against him as she bobbed down. Quickening, he began to roll his hips forwards, prompting her to match his pace. “There you go; good, that’s good.” She fought to stay steady, her hand speeding up, trying to reach anything she couldn’t with her lips. Straining, she whined, the sound heaven against him as he thrust into her mouth, holding her firmly. Despite the mischievous twinkle in her eye that told him she wasn’t quite sorry, he knew he wouldn’t stay mad; he couldn’t. Not with her willing to drop to her knees for him. No, he couldn’t stay mad, not with her, his Violet. 

 

His brow was furrowed in concentration, all seriousness as he thrust towards her. She tried to keep her mouth open, figuring that biting him could only end poorly at this point. He groaned, cursing as she pressed her tongue against him.

“Fuck, Violet,” he took a sharp breath in, smirking. “I thought you were supposed to be a good girl.” 

Pulling back, she took a breath, continuing to slide her hand over his erection attentively, “I’m a quick learner.”

“You’re a fucking succubus is what you are. And you’re mine,” he tilted her head back, making sure she was looking into his eyes. “Yes?”

“Yes,” she spoke quietly, the feeling bubbling inside her ribs.

“Still in the classroom, dear.”

“Yes, Professor.”

“There we go. There’s the good girl.” His words dissolved into a moan as she took him back into her mouth, letting her tongue slip over the tip of his arousal. “Fuck. Fuck, Violet, fuck.” His grip tightened, his breathing growing labored as he began to buck against her, trying to thrust further into her mouth. She pushed back against his hands, not trusting herself to the depth he obviously wanted, trying to compensate with her fingers. And then, with a groan, he came, shuddering, his fingers tight against her, trying to use her for balance. She pulled back, still holding him in her mouth, his desperate grip holding her against himself as he finished. Finally, sighing, he leaned back, beginning to right himself.

 

“Yes, well,” he shivered, still enjoying the pleasurable echos of his climax. “I hope you’ve learned a lesson, Miss Baudelaire.” 

“I certainly have.” Gently, she stood, carefully brushing at her skirt. The lilting tone in her voice warned him that she had not, in fact, learned the lesson she was supposed to.

“In my classroom, you abide by my rules.”

“What about your apartment?” she cocked her eyebrow. 

He stared at her, “Pardon?” 

“If I were to, say, challenge your theater choices there, then what happens?”

“That depends,” he growled, crossing his arms. “What are you wearing in this scenario?”

Smiling, she began to resituate her hair. “I don’t know. What should I be wearing?”

“Something form fitting. Not black; it’s not your color.”

“Green?”

“Green could work.”

“Are you sure about the black? I've got something I think you might be interested in.”

“Another black dress?”

“It’s not a dress.”

Pausing, he took a moment before nodding, “That'll do then.”

“Good. So I’ll see you at eight?”

“Are you going to run your mouth again?”

“If I do,” stepping forward, she smoothed out the wrinkles from his shirt, taking her time before looking up to meet his eyes, mere inches away, “do I get to make the rules?”

“If you don’t, I'll let you ride me until you lose the ability to talk back.”

“Deal.” Pleased, she kissed his cheek lightly before easing off her toes, unlocking the door and leaving.


	42. Countess

He kissed her lips, her forehead, her cheeks. She laughed, placing her hands over his, holding them.

“Stop it! You're ridiculous!”

“I have earned the right to adore you, and I plan on taking every advantage of the fact.”

“You're unbelievable.”

“And you,” pausing, he kissed her lips, her wide smile, feeling her laugh against his face, “are my wife.”

“Yes?” She cocked her eyebrow, smirking as she wrapped her arms behind his neck. 

“My wife. My bride. My Countess.” He kissed her again, wondered if there had ever been bliss like this before.

“Now you're just overdoing it.”

“If anything, I'm holding back.”

“How is that even possible?”

“You underestimate me, Countess.”

“How are you not tired of that?” 

“Tired of what?”

“Putting Countess at the end of every sentence.”

“I like saying it.”

“Evidently.”

“You don’t like it?”

“Seems vain, don’t you think?”

“Is it vanity if it's earned?”

“You're such a jerk.”

“And you're my wife,” he kissed her again, letting the happiness crack his chest open. Wrapping his arms behind her, he lifted her up, felt the warm strength of her holding onto him. She laughed as he spun her, the sound catching inside his heart, tangling like kite strings. She was so beautiful, so lovely. 

 

Placing her back down upon the ground, he cupped her cheeks, kissed her mouth. 

“I can't remember ever seeing you so happy,” she muttered the words against his lips, just barely managing space enough to speak. 

“Yes, well. Can you blame me?”

“For all the bravado, you're really such a simple man.”

“Nonsense. I am exclusively satisfied with the best. And you,” he kissed her again, “are the best.”

“Yes? Is that so?” She smirked, feeling her gut tighten. 

“Don't believe me?”

“Of course I do.” Slowly, she slipped her hands over his shoulders, beginning to undo the buttons of his shirt. “I just like being told so.”

“Well then,” he smiled again, elated and ravenous, “I'll just have to keep saying it.” He kissed her cheek, her jaw. “You're so beautiful. And I,” he brushed her hair back, his eyes like tempered glass, “am so in love with you.” 

Still feeling rather tempestuous, she kissed him back, sighing as he reached behind her, unzipping the back of her dress. With a soft shrug, she let it slip over her shoulders to the floor, slowly walking backwards towards the bed. 

 

She was bliss, she was divinity. She was his wife. As she let him lay her down, he couldn't resist the temptation to run a hand over her body, admiring her.

“You're so beautiful,” he kissed the words into her mouth. 

“Is that all?” She teased him, holding his lips to hers.

“Of course not. You're also an enormous pain.”

“Rude.”

“It's true, Countess.” Gentle, he touched her skin, her body, kissing her throat as he slowly brought his hand up to palm her breast.

“Do you really have to say that?”

“I like it.”

“I don't. Sounds weird.”

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

More than a bit disappointed, he shrugged, “Whatever keeps you happy, love.” He kissed her again, quickly consoled by the feeling of her hands pulling his shirt off. “You absolutely are a nightmare though.”

“Yes, well. You're welcome.”

“What about ‘my wife?’ Is that okay?”

“Still weird, don't you think?”

“My love?”

“So dramatic.”

“My headache?”

“What's wrong with my actual name?”

“Bit personal, don't you think?” 

“We're literally married.”

“Fine, fine. If you want to be devastatingly unromantic,” he sighed dramatically, “I suppose that's okay.” 

Smiling, she opened her mouth as he kissed her. Still feeling like his body was actively rejecting his heart, he slipped his tongue into her mouth, getting shivers when her own tongue pushed back. How many times had he kissed her? It had to be near countless, and yet, every time she left him hopelessly lost in her gravity. 

“I love you,” he could hear the adoration in his voice, felt the turn of her lip as she smiled.

“I love you too, I suppose.”

His heart beached itself upon these sands, determined to either make a home or perish. 

“My Kit. Unkind and beautiful Kit.”

Laughing, she pulled him back down into the kiss, back into the uncharted waters of his love. 

 


	43. "We Can't Keep This Up Forever"

“We can't keep this up forever, little cheat.” He ran his hands down her legs, sighing. 

“Why not?” She caught her hands behind his neck, holding onto him.

“Things change. People change.”

“You're tired of me?” She looked so hurt, for a moment he considered backing down. “Of course not. Did I say that? But things are bound to explode eventually.”

“Why? Why is it so impossible for things to stay nice?”

“We're not the type to peter out, are we?” 

“Doesn't mean we have to end.”

“How else did you see this ending?”

She paused, taken aback. “I don't know, I suppose-”

“Did you start this thinking we'd get married? That I wouldn't lose my job? That your entire academic career wouldn't be called into question?” 

“It's not like-”

“This isn't forever. This isn't even long-term.”

“So… it's over? You actually waited until I was sitting in your lap to break up with me?”

“No, no no no no no.” He ran his hands along her arms, backtracking. “I'm just saying we're getting to a point where it's important to think about.”

“Important to think about?” Pushing him off, she stood in front of him. “Now it's important?”

“Well, yes. But-”

“Not before you told me you loved me? Or before you asked me to stay the night? Or even, heaven forbid, before we slept together?”

“Listen! I'm only saying-”

“No, I understand.” Grabbing her things, she turned irately. “You're right. My mistake. I should have known better than to listen to a fucking collegiate actor.”

“I didn't mean-”

“Any of it. I know. Don’t worry,” she held the door. “I won't tell anyone. Wouldn't want to embarrass you or risk your little scheme. Have a good night, asshole.”

Slamming the door, she left, making the room feel only the more vacant for it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> College AU


	44. "Are You Flirting With Me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-Schism AU

She leaned against him, trying and failing to seem nonchalant as she wrapped an arm beneath his. Awkwardly, she fumbled, catching and righting herself quickly. 

Smirking, he cocked his eyebrow, looking down at her, “Something I can help you with?”

“Probably,” she more sang the word than said it. “The question is. Can I help  _ you _ ?”

“Well, now the question is how much did you have to drink?”

“Not much,” she waved his words off, scoffing. 

“So you're either a lightweight or a liar.”

“Don't limit me. I can be both.”

“Indeed you can, Miss Baudelaire.” Still smiling, he wrapped an arm behind her to help steady her. Sighing dramatically, she glanced about the room, feigning distraction. Eager to take the bait, he smiled, “Still don't find parties fun?”

“No, it's not that.”

“Well then, whatever's wrong?”

“Nothing. It's just,” sighing again, she turned to look at him sadly, “these clothes are so very hot.”

“Yes?” He barely restrained a chuckle as she nodded seriously.

“Yes. If only there was someone,” she leaned against his bicep, dragging a hand down to his chest, teasing him, “who could help me get out of them.”

“You need help?”

“The zipper’s in the back.”

“I see,” he nodded back, equally serious. “You're a regular damsel in distress.”

“Yes. But what can be done?” lowering her gaze, she glanced up at him beneath hooded eyes sadly. 

Leaning down, he drew close enough to murmur directly in her ear with a smirk, feeling her breath catch as he did so. “Are you flirting with me, Miss Baudelaire?” 

 

She shivered, feeling the gravelly tone in his voice. 

“And what of it?”

“You're actions are going to land you in trouble, young lady.”

“What'll they do? Tell me off? I'm so scared.” She let the sarcasm drip from her voice, rich with animosity.

“I wasn't speaking of them.” He tightened his grip. 

“I thought you liked trouble.” Her heart began to knock at her sternum.

“I do, especially when it comes so tantalizingly wrapped.” 

“In that case, you really should unwrap it.”

 

All at once, he was eternally grateful that she had been so hard to find, tucked so far in the back. Pulling her to her toes, he kissed her sacrilegious lips, feeling the ease with which she kissed him back. 

“You've really taken a shining to the champagne, haven't you?”

“You're a bad influence.”

“Evidently.” He kissed her again, pulled her tight to his chest. “Still need help with that dress?”

“If it's not too much trouble.”

“Oh, darling,” he kissed her again, “no trouble at all.” 

 


	45. "Behave"

“I haven’t got time for this.” Exhausted he massaged the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply.

“Oh, so NOW you don’t have time? Now that I’M the one with a problem, you get to-”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Violet. If you could shut your damn mouth for one second-”

“EXCUSE me?”

“If you would just let me talk!” He threw his hands in the air, “Goddamnit! At least give me the opportunity to offend you before you yell at me!”

“Alright. Sure! Give me your excuse.”

“I was just going to say that this sounds like a problem that can really wait until tomorrow!”

“You don’t even know what the problem is!”

“Fine! What’s so FUCKING important? What’s the goddamn problem?” 

Ready to tear into him, she lifted an accusatory finger but paused, her brow cinching. Lips pursed, she coiled the finger back into her fist, “You made me so mad I forgot.”

“You forgot?” he cocked his eyebrow in disbelief, “You fucking forgot?”

“Well I didn’t count on you throwing the world’s most pathetic temper tantrum!”

“Oh my god, I-” he turned away, pressing his hands to his temples, “I really don’t have time for this!”

“No! You don’t get to walk away now!” 

 

“Or else WHAT?” Turning sharply, he faced her, the picture of exasperated displeasure. She renewed her resolve.

“Or else I’ll-” quickly, she glanced around the room, trying to think of something to threaten him with, “or else I’lllllllllllll do THIS!” grabbing a manuscript off the counter, she held it above the stove.

He scoffed. “You know I’d kill you, right?”

“Would you?” she really hoped he wouldn’t call her bluff. 

“Come on. Don’t do something stupid.”

“Oh, I am well-equipped to do something stupid. I am BEYOND ready to do something stupid!”

“I believe you, just-” as he reached for the papers, she pulled them back, glaring at him sharply. “Jesus fucking- Do you want to die? Is this a suicide attempt? Because that’s what it’s turning into.”

“Keep talking. You’re doing so well.”

“You don’t even remember what you were mad about!”

“Well, now I’m mad about this!”

“You want an apology? Is that what you want?”

“Won’t be a bad place to start.”

“Fine. I’m so fucking sorry… that you’re an absolute idiot.”

“Hey! That-” 

 

Acting quick, he grabbed her around the waist, throwing her over his shoulder. The papers fell to the floor, scattered but unharmed.

“I swear to god! If you don’t put me down RIGHT NOW!” With a thump he kicked open the door, startling the troop members who were still at the table. He could practically hear her teeth grit as she smiled, “One moment, please.” They all nodded, silent, as he carried her out of the room, through the foyer, and then out to the back room. She hit his chest as he placed her down again, her face screwed up in anger.

“Are you finished?”

“I- Maybe.” She hit him again. “Yes.”

“Good. Calm enough to be an adult?”

“You’re the one not acting like an adult!” She spit the words, venomous. 

Slowly, he nodded. “I see. And so threatening me was, what then? The mature option?”

“You deserved it.” Crossing her arms, she turned her face away from him.

“Care to repeat that?”

“I said you deserved it!” She was so flustered it was actually comical. He smiled. “Don’t laugh at me!”

“Wasn’t laughing.”

“I swear to god, I’ll-”

“You’ll behave, is what you’ll do.” He gripped her chin tightly, forcing her to look up at him. “You’ll stop trying to make a scene, and most importantly, will stop trying to burn my plays.”

“I thought you liked playing with fire?”

“While that was perhaps the most erotic thing you have ever said to me, now is not the time.”

“Evidently!” She threw her hands up. “Not the time, not the time! That’s all you’ve been saying tonight!”

“Quieter.”

She uncrossed and re-crossed her arms, breaking eye contact. “It’s fucking annoying.”

“Language.”

“Annoying as hell.”

“Closer.”

“Real damn annoying.”

“Jesus fucking- There’s easier ways to get my attention, you know.”

“I have no idea how you got that out of ANYTHING I just said.”

“Stop yelling!”

“Oh, sorry, am I being DIFFICULT? Can’t imagine what that’s like!”

“Watch yourself.”

“Or what? I don’t have anything to burn.”

“Or,” he leaned in, cocking his eyebrow sternly, “I’ll use the stick instead of the carrot. Understand?” Looking away, she scowled, irritated and more than a bit put-off. “Now. Are you quite through with making scenes?”

“Depends.”

“Ah ah ah,” forcing her to look at him again, he dropped his voice low, letting it sink to a spot deep in his chest. “Behave.”

“But-”

“Behave.” Watching the sternness within his eyes, she felt her stomach flip.

“Fine.”

“Excuse me?”

“Yes. Okay.” 

“What a splendid wife I have,” tilting her face up, he kissed her pouting lips. “Always so entertaining.” 

“I don’t forgive you.”

“I didn’t ask you too.” Uncomfortably gentle, he cupped her face, kissing her forehead. “Now. Do you think you can stay out of trouble long enough to finish the dinner?”

“After dinner we’re still fighting.”

“After dinner,” he held an index up, stopping her, “we’re going to look into teaching you a lesson on how to obey your husband.”

“If you even think about trying that, I will literally bite you.”

“We’ll talk about it.” Taking her arm, he lead her out of the room.


	46. "What Did You Just Say?"

“WHAT did you just say?!”

“I said, FUCK OFF!”

“That is VERY unladylike!”

“Well maybe I’M unladylike!”

“Oh, you most DEFINITELY are!”

“Is that supposed to be an insult? Because I really REALLY don’t care!”

“Evidently!”

“What is THAT supposed to mean?”

“OH, nothing at ALL!”

“Well obviously it means SOMETHING!”

“Noooooo! Far be it from me to have a fucking OPINION in this GODDAMN house!”

“Oh! I see, I see, yes! No, of COURSE it means nothing! Heaven forbid you be held accountable for your actions!”

“And what does THAT mean?!”

“It means FUCK OFF!” 

“You do NOT speak to me that way!”

“Or WHAT?”

“You are being SUCH a pain in the ass!”

“At least I say what I fucking mean!”

“Fine! You want to know what I think?”

“PLEASE! Enlighten me, oh wise one!” 

“I think you were right; treating you like a lady was a mistake when you’re so OBVIOUSLY just a spoiled BRAT!”

“WHAT did you just say to me?”

“You want to act like a brat? You get treated like a brat!”

“Oh yes? I’M the brat?”

“What does THAT mean then?”

“It means FUCK! YOU!” Sharply, she shoved his chest. Just as quick, he caught her wrists, keeping her from pushing him again. “Let go of me, asshole!”

“Not until you apologize!”

“I’m not going to apologize!”

“Then I’m not letting go!”

“Oh yeah, real mature!”

“I’M sorry, but rules of chivalry only apply to ladies!”

“How about the rules of ‘you have ten seconds until I kick you’?”

“See? Brat!”

“Maybe I am a brat!” She tried to jab his chest with her index finger but just ended up pointing sharply. “But you fucking LIKE it!”

“I fucking love it so much,” just as quickly, he was tugging her to his chest, tightly embracing her as he kissed her open lips. Taking advantage of her newly freed hands, she tangled her fingers in his hair, tugging him down, stretching on tiptoe to reach. Roughly, he wrapped his arms behind her thighs, lifting her and tossing her neatly onto the bed. She bounced, catching herself with her arms before grabbing at him again, pulling him down and pressing her lips to his. 

“Are we still fighting?” her words were muffled by the kiss.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Do you want to get fucked like a lady or like a brat?” 

“Definitely still fighting.” She pushed her tongue into his mouth, tightening her grip as he, smug, shifted his grip to her hips, tugging her closer to himself.


	47. "About The Baby... It's Yours"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pregnancy AU I guess lol

“You look… different.” She didn’t look so different, just different enough. Or maybe that was just time.

“Yes, well… things change.”

“I… suppose they do.” They stood in awkward silence.

“So. How have you been?” he looked around, still somewhat suspicious.

“Fine. Good. Things are good. Listen-”

“That’s good. It’s good that things are good.”

“Yes. Now-”

“So what are you-” 

“I’m pregnant.” She interrupted him, her words rushed.

“Oh. Wow.” He hoped she didn’t hear the bones in his chest break. “That’s… fast.”

“Fast?”

“I mean. You.. didn’t waste any time did you?”

“It’s yours.”

He blinked, trying to figure out what the hell she just said. “Come again?”

“The baby is yours.”

“I’m still not following.”

She sighed, obviously exhausted. “The baby.”

“Yes.” He pointed to her stomach, just to be certain.

“Has a father.”

“Presumably.”

“Who is you.”

“No it’s not.”

“It’s- It doesn’t work like that.”

“No, I’m fairly certain. That’s impossible.”

“Well, it’s not, so…”

“So you’re trying to tell me that this baby, YOUR baby,” he pointed to it again, “is supposed to be my baby?”

“Not your baby so much as your fault, but the facts stay the same.”

Silently, he nodded slowly, trying to slow the onslaught of thoughts racing through his mind. “But… I don’t want children.”

“Well… You successfully made one, so…”

“Not on purpose!” He held his hands up, completely overwhelmed. 

“I know that! I didn’t-” pausing, she took a deep breath, pinching her nose. “This was a mistake.”

“Obviously!”

“No, I mean coming here. I shouldn’t have-”

“Why did you?”

Sighing, she pressed her hair back with her hands, “I don’t know. No, that’s a lie. I just-” Looking up at him, she shook her head slowly. “I didn’t know what to do.” 

“Didn’t know what to do?”

“How the hell am I supposed to be responsible for bringing someone into this mess?”

 

For a moment he was terrified she would cry. Strange how hard it was to kill old habits. He wanted to take her into his arms, wanted to tell her it would be okay.

“They don’t know you’re here, do they?” Sniffling, she shook her head no. “So, you show up at my door after complete radio silence only to tell me you’re gonna have a kid and ask me what to do with it?”

“Yes.” Suddenly unsure, she looked at him sheepishly.

“Right.” Stepping back, he held his breath, letting it out slowly. “Alright.”

Uncomfortable, she glanced down. “I, Should I-”

“Are you going to come in?”

“Thank you,” her relief was so evident, it devastated him.

“Least I could do.” He half-muttered the words, shutting the door behind her.

 


	48. "Dance With Me"/"Are You Drunk"

“Come here. Here,” letting the needle drop, he waved her over sloppily, grabbing at her as the side b of the record began to play.

“Yes? You need something?” 

Lollingly, he took her hand, kissing her fingers as he circled an arm behind her back, “I need you to come here.”

“I’m already here.”

“Come dance with me.”

“Are you drunk?”

“Does it matter?” More smoothly than he ought to be, he began to two-step her around the room.

“What did you get into?”

“Shhhhh,” he shushed her, gently shaking his head, “it doesn’t matter.”

“It does if you won’t share.”

“Shh shh shh. Nice moment. Enjoy it.” More tender than his sober self would ever dare to be, he pulled her closer, kissing her temple, rocking her slowly side to side. Sighing, she smiled, letting her head rest against his shoulder.

“If you’re hiding the liquor, I’ll find it.”

Amused, he snorted, “Good luck. You’re not tall enough.”

“We’ll see.”

“Short wife. So small. Little Violet.”

“You’re in an unusually good mood tonight.”

“We’re celebrating, Darling. Everything went perfectly to plan.” Leaning down, he kissed her lips, “You are married to a very talented and powerful man, you know.”

“I’m married to a very drunk man.”

 

“It’s a celebration!” Switching direction, he gripped her waist, lifting her up into the air. She laughed, holding onto his shoulders as he spun her in a tight circle. 

“Well forgive me for not realizing it was a party.”

“You are forgiven.” Missing her sarcasm entirely, he kissed her, bending her backwards into a shallow dip. 

“So gracious. Now,” sliding her hands from his neck to his shoulders, she pat his bicep lightly, “where’s the liquor?”

“Top cabinet where you cannot reach it.”

“Alright. Hey, completely unrelated question, do you by chance want to go to the kitchen?”

“Not until you dance with me.” Taking her hand again, he began to lead her in a slow waltz.

“Fine. Until the end of the song.”

“Until the end of the record.”

“End of the song, then a kitchen break, then we finish the record.”

 

“Deal,” feeling quite satisfied, he smirked, kissing her once again, determined to get everything he could out of of the song. It was a good night. 


	49. "Why Do You Hate Me?"

“Why do you hate me?” She stared at the ground, her voice containing all the gravity of someone asking about the weather. Pausing, he watched her, his hand on the doorway, unsure what to say. What was there to say? It was a biblical violence, handed from Cain to him down to her. It was inherited, an inbred curse. Gazing at her thin shoulders, he found himself wondering for the first time how she could carry it.

“Because I can.” He spoke deftly, hoping to shut up this sudden rattling strangeness. “Wouldn't you?”

 

It was a strange question. Finally finding nerve enough to look at him, she was disquieted by the shallow glaze of his eyes.

“Isn't it tiring?” 

The slightest twitch of his lip betrayed his surprise. “Hatred is easy to carry.”

 

It wasn't easy. He was just calcified, deep enough within it to be damned senseless. His anger had long ago grown metastatic, living on as a dead thing. One day she would understand. 

 

“It isn't my fault.” She knew it was a stupid thing to say but she said it anyway. 

“Doesn't have to be.”

“What's the point then?”

He shrugged, still watching her clinically. “No point.”

For a terrible moment she thought she might cry. “I haven't-”

“I know.”

“Then what does it help?” She hated the plea in her voice. 

Finally, he looked away, tracing a finger against the wood of the door frame distractedly. 

 

It helped to have something to point to, something to blame, something to punish. He liked seeing someone be sorry, wanted the apologies, the begging for mercy. She was an easy target, unsuited for his arsenal, his fingers itching to release the taunt bow. Had he been a lesser man, he might be moved to pity. But no, he had waited for this, had earned the right to be behind the sword. 

 

“It doesn't, I suppose.”

“Then why-”

“Because I can.” Without saying another word, he left. 


	50. "Just How Stupid Do You Think I Am?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trader Joes AU

“You’re early.”

“The bus was ahead of schedule.”

“Oh?” Cocking his eyebrow, he leaned against her counter, crossing his arms.

“That and my insuppressible passion for retail.”

“If only that were true.”

“No really. Being a cashier is the height of my dreams.” Taking up her apron, she slid it over her head.

“Sarcasm is an unattractive quality in a woman.”

“Believe me, I’m more than aware.”

“Watch the attitude, Baudelaire. Customers won’t appreciate it, and neither do I.”

“Very telling that you list the customers before yourself.” 

“And straighten up. Poor posture looks bad.” 

Glancing over his own relaxed frame, she saluted him mockingly, “Yes sir.”

“Hey!” he frowned, irritated. “Watch it. There’s nothing guaranteeing your position here.”

“No one else will take the hours.”

“That reminds me,” flipping through a pile of papers, he frowned, “I saw that you traded for closing shift tomorrow.”

“Yes? Is there a problem?”

“Every time I’ve asked you to close before, you’ve come up with some excuse to get out of it.” 

He wasn’t wrong. She hated the work of closing; it was the hardest shift. However, it was also the most understaffed. She needed the extra hours, and honestly? Anything that gave her the extra bonus of the opportunity to hang around him, pissing him off, was a win. 

“Yes, well. Things happen.”

“Things happen indeed.” Narrowing his eyes, he stared at her. “So you just, what, switched to a double shift out of the kindness of your heart?”

“Yes?”

“Baudelaire.” Closing the papers, he re-crossed his arms, leaning closer to her. “Just how stupid do you think I am?”

“Excuse me?” Leaning back to maintain her personal space, she felt every bit of his stern gaze.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Switching shifts. It’s allowed.”

“You know you don’t get paid overtime.”

“I…” she blinked, trying to untangle his meaning, “What?”

“It was a nice attempt, but your hourly rate stays the same.”

“Okay.” 

They stared at each other neither one having anything to say.

“Okay. Well then.” Looking away he cleared his throat. “Can you stay late today?”

“Can’t, I’ve got a-”

“Let me guess. Sick sibling or lost pet?”

“Doctor’s appointment.”

He nodded, smiling ever so slightly. “Of course. Should have known.”

As he turned to walk away, she felt the irritation in her gut bubble, warm and nervous. 

 


	51. "I'm Waiting"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End AU  
> Very much NSFW

“Something you need?” He didn’t turn to look at her, smirking satisfied to himself. He heard the nervous shuffle of her feet, could picture the way her face would be screwed up, her brow furrowed. 

“I wanted to be sure you weren’t getting into anything.”

Thoughtfully, he hummed, sarcastic and gloating. “What on earth is there left for me to get into?”

“I’ve learned not to trust you.”

“Oh Violet, you flatter me.” Turning slowly, he crossed his arms, shifting his weight comfortably. 

“It isn’t on purpose.”

“Quite. I’ve learned to expect nothing less. Now. Tell me why you’re really here.”

“I’ve already told you.”

Dramatically he sighed, clicking his tongue, “After all this time, I’ve yet to make a decent liar of you.” Straightening up, he crossed the room to her, taking his time. “Finally decided to take me up on my offer?”

“I don’t need anything from you.”

“But you want something.” His pride burbled inside of him as she scowled. “So tense, Orphan. So stressed. Really, I’m surprised you didn’t come sooner. Help me help you; let me set you right.” He cocked his eyebrow, watching her indignant silence.

“You already know why I’m here. Don’t make it any worse” Stepping closer, she gripped the waist of his pants, tugging him forward by the hips. He growled in pleasure.

“Oh, but I want to. Tell me all about how you’ve been unable to get me out of your head, how many times you’ve thought about it. Go on. Say, ‘Count Olaf, I want you to ravish my body,’ or ‘You dashing man, I want you to have your wicked way with me.’ Something like that.”

“You’re terrible.”

“Good start. Build off of that.” Teasingly, he opened the close of his belt with a click, smirking when her eyes darted downwards for an instant. Seeing his amusement, she set her jaw, stubborn to the last. “Go on then.” He whispered the words as he looked down at her, relishing the moment, “I’m waiting.”

“And if I won’t?”

“You will. You’ve already made up your mind to come back to me; that was the hard part, wasn’t it?”

“Fine. I came here to sleep with you. Happy now?”

“Correction. You came here to get fucked by me.” 

“Does it make a difference?”

“I assure you, it does.” Taking her by the wrist, he pressed her hand to his stiffening arousal, still tented beneath his pants. “What do you want, pretty little orphan? Tell me.”

“I want to fucking kill you.”

“But before that?”

“Before that, I’m going to take you to bed.”

“So what you're saying is…”

“I want you.” 

“There we are. Was that so hard?” Smiling, he cupped her face, wasting no time in pressing his tongue into her mouth. She staggered backwards under his force, gripping his arms to balance. He had known she would come, had thought long and often about the look on her face when he had left her, standing naked beside her scavenged tools and half-finished boat. And finally, she was here, subcombing, submitting to her animal desires. This, this was the sweeter victory, her acknowledged lust. She was human after all, despite the pretenses.

“See? No need to make it difficult for yourself,” breaking away from the kiss, he held her face close to his, savoring her nervous breath. “I’m a very generous man, Violet, given the chance. A real humanitarian. I’m just so passionate about helping orphans, particularly pretty ones who come begging to ride my cock.” 

“I’m not begging,” her hands moved to his shoulders as he caught her in a tight embrace, pinning her elbows to her sides. 

“Oh, you will be. Give it time.” Kissing her deeply, he steered her towards the cot, pressing her flat on her back before climbing on top of her. Undoing his fly, he left his pants on as he tugged his shirt off over his head. “Now, dealer’s choice; do you want to undress yourself for me, or shall I do it myself?”

“I can undress myself.”

“Should have guessed. Self-sufficient Violet, never needs anyone’s help.” He sat back, smugly enjoying the moment as she crossed her arms, pulling her dress over her head. “Take your bra off. Leave the panties for me.” 

“If you think-”

“I’m waiting.”

Still glowering, she reached behind herself, undoing the close. 

“Good girl,” leaning in, he kissed her again, pressing her once more onto her back. “You’re learning.” 

“I’ll kill you.”

“I look forward to it.” Leaning down, he ran his tongue over her chest, delighted when she arched her back up, pressing closer to him. He smiled as she gasped, relishing her easy reaction. “Well, you are tightly wound, aren’t you?” Firmly, he pressed his palms to her breasts, kneading the flushed skin. Whining, she didn’t reply, twitchy and wonderfully reactive as he scraped his teeth against her nipple. “Very tightly wound. I had forgotten how much fun virgins could be. Maybe I’ll start a charity dedicated to the deflowering of pretty brats.” 

“You’re despicable.”

“What can I say? There are certain perks to being first. No expectations, no irritating habits for you to unlearn.”

“Heaven forbid someone have standards.”

“Darling,” hovering his face an inch above hers, he whispered against her lips, “I am the standard.” Kissing her quickly, he moved back down to her chest, sliding his tongue against the underside of her breast. She pressed her hips up against him, groaning. “Lucky for you to be so completely and utterly ruined.”

“Talk less.”

“No, I think you’ll find I have quite a lot to say, met only by my desire to say it.” 

“Oh my god.”

“You’re a lucky girl, don’t undersell that.” Smoothly, he slid his fingers over her panties, tracing the seams along the inside of her thighs. “Now, be a good girl and tell me where you want the bad man to touch you.”

 

Her breath shook as he let his fingertips drag against her skin, tucking beneath the fabric for fleeting moments at a time. His touch was so warm. She ought to hate it, wanted to hate it, and yet… “Right there,” the words came out on her breath.

“Here? Right here?” He stopped, pausing his motion.

“In. Up.” 

Lazily, he followed her directions, smirking contentedly as he did so. “Here?” Slowly, he pressed a warm palm between her legs, causing her heart to skip.

“Almost.”

“Almost,” he hummed mock contemplatively. “‘Almost,’ she says. Do you want me beneath your panties, Orphan? Do you want me to touch you?”

“Yes,” the word came out from a place deep in her chest.

Taking his damn time, he slid her underwear over her thighs, discarding them to the side before running his fingers along her, gently bringing them to the crux of her legs.

“Mmm, very good,” he hummed his pleasure, proud. “Nice and wet for me, aren’t you?” Shutting her eyes, she whimpered, her joints tense as she gripped at the sheets. “Relax. You’re fine.” Slowly, he slid a finger inside her, groaning deeply as she gasped, “There we go. Good girl. Relax for me. It’ll be easier this time, I promise.” Without having to think about it, her hips arched down against him, wanting more, wanting depth. Savoring her need, he took his time, allowing her a few shallow thrusts before slipping another finger in. “Good girl, very good.” As he pumped his fingers inside her, he reached his other hand down the front of his pants, palming his now hard erection. 

Gingerly, static crept along the edges of her consciousness. All of her body was focused on his fingers, on the way his touch crept within her blood. The need was pulsing, thrumming, building with each stroke. She felt her body fizzle away to nothing before snapping back into a crystal clear picture. Gasping, she dug her fingers into him, simultaneously overwhelmed and perfectly wonderfully at peace. Smiling, gloating, he continued, making her spine liquid marrow, her breath pulled out of her chest like iced air, cold and raw in her throat. She felt the way her toes curled as her feet tucked in, helpless to stop the unlearned, automatic reaction. 

And then, all too soon, he pulled away, watching down on her as she fought to catch her breath. As the bliss melted away, soaking her back into her skin, the shame returned. Frantic, she shook her head.

“Don’t stop yet.”

 

Making sure she was watching him, he raised his hand to his lips. Pressing his fingers into his mouth, he pulled them out languishingly slowly, “You want more, Orphan?”

“Yes.”

“Not too tired?”

“Not yet.”

Content with the view of her breathless naked form before him, he took his time, easing the waist of his pants over his hips. “I warned you. I told you you’d spend the rest of your days waiting for me to fuck you.”

“You oversell yourself.”

“Look at whose bed you’re in before you talk back.” Sliding off his pants, he sat between her legs, running his hands along the bare skin beneath her knees, her calves, her lower thighs. 

Groaning, she clutched at the blanket again, rolling her hips down towards him. Taking superb delight in the moment, he crawled on top of her, kissing his way along her chest and shoulder. Gasping again, her hands raked along his sides, clinging, viscous. Searching, her fingers wandered down to his waist, tugging at the band of his boxers. 

“What do you want, Violet?” He whispered the words against her skin, nipping at the salty flesh with his teeth.

“I want you to do it without dragging this little comedy bit out again.”

“Come on now. It’s a fun game, don’t you think?”

“Not particularly.”

“I just want to know how I can make you feel good, pretty thing.” His grip tightened. “Besides,” kissing her throat, his voice became a low rumble, “you’re adorable when you’re scared. Don’t you agree?”

“If you’re so keen on it, then why don’t you tell me what you want?”

“Gladly.” Bringing his hand up, he gripped her jaw, his palm pressed to the front of her throat. “I want to bury myself inside you, Orphan. I want to see you cry.” She whimpered, his other hand tracing over her breast, teasing her, before coming down between her legs again, stroking her roughly. “I want to see how that smart mouth looks wrapped around my cock.”

“Okay, I think-”

“You asked, Pandora; you wanted to know. God, do you know how many times I’ve imagined this exact moment, thought about every single way I could ruin you? That’s why I ask; there are too many options for me to choose from. Plenty of time, of course, but I’ve never been known for my patience. So what do you want, Violet?” 

She cried out, arching her back again as he continued to rub at her, forcing her through another orgasm. As she collapsed, again rendered breathless, he pulled his underwear down over his hips, stroking his erection.

“There. You see what you do to me?” Taking her hand again, he pressed it to his shaft, feeling her fingers fumble against him. “Do you see what you’ve done? Now, Orphan, tell me what you’re going to do about it.”

“Okay, yes, I want to fuck you.” He could see how much effort it took for her to get the words out.

“Again.”

“I want to fuck you.”

“Again.”

“I want you inside me.”

“Again.”

“I want you to fuck me!”

“There’s my good girl.” Gripping her behind the knees, he forced her legs up, keeping her flat against the bed, and then he was lining himself up, sliding inside her. She gasped, tensing as he pressed the tip in. Quickly, he shushed her placatingly, “That’s good. Good girl, you’re fine.” 

 

Steadily, he pressed himself further in. She whimpered at the pressure, the stretching fullness of him inside her, found herself again panicking about how he could possibly fit.

“It’s- You’re not-”

Again, he shushed her, his brow furrowed in concentrated restraint, “You’re fine. Relax.” With a final, throaty grunt, he thrust his way up to the base, leaving her gasping. “There. Good girl.” Slowly, he began to thrust in slow, metered strokes. “God, you’re so tight. Such a good girl. A pretty little brat.” 

She whined, letting him move her body as he rocked into her, his hard arousal a stiff pressure inside her. Gently, he began to stroke her clit again, lacing his movements with buzzing trails of pleasure. Moaning into the sensation, she arched her back, feeling him press her back down. His touch was firm, commanding; he knew what he wanted and how he was going to take it.

“There. Is that good?” Wordless, she nodded her head yes, her eyes shut tight. “I can’t think of anything prettier than you begging for me. After all your stubbornness, you still fell to begging.”

“Don’t-”

“God, and it was so easy. You were so ready to spread your legs for me. After all this time, you wanted me to win so that I could take what's mine. Is that why you saved yourself for me, Orphan? You wanted deflowering you to be my prize?”

“I don't- Oh my god!”

“That's right. Go on and come for me like a good girl. Let me see how much you like it when I win.” 

Not having many options to the contrary, she arched up again, trying to block him out as best she could as once more her bones became singing, vibrating things. He thrust inside her quicker, gritting his teeth, his grip on her stiff. Her entire body rocked with his thrusts, his motions rough, determined. As she slid down from the high of her climax, he pulled out quickly, groaning as he finished. 

Panting, he climbed off of her, letting her push her way up into a sitting position. For a moment they just stared, realizing how naked they both were. 

Not bothering with subtly, his gaze dragged along her body, ending with him giving a slight nod of approval. “Don’t wait so long next time. I’m dying to see how you’d look riding me, what with those perky little breasts of yours.”

“You're disgusting.” Standing, she began to grab her clothes from the floor. 

“Leaving so soon? Don't want to stay for a cigarette? A whole pack washed up the other day.”

“I'll have to decline your generous offer.” Curtly, she pulled her dress on over her head.

“Alright,” shrugging, he reclined back onto the cot. “More for me.”

“Just so we're clear,” fixing her hair, she turned to face him, “I absolutely am going to kill you the first chance I get.”

“Sounds good. Until then, try to be less of a tease. Between your quick learning and my natural aptitude,” winking, he clicked his tongue, “we could make a real work of art.”

“You're making me regret this.”

“Shame is a small price to pay. You'll give it up soon enough.”

“Unbelievable,” walking out, she shut the door behind her. 

“Until next time!” He called loudly after her, wanting to be sure she heard before leaning back again, smiling as he closed his eyes. 


	52. "You're A Good Mom/Dad"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arson the Cat AU

“I can hardly believe that thing even remembers how to walk with how often you're carrying it,” muttering just loud enough for her to hear, he went back to the newspaper. 

“He's fine, you're just jealous.” Turning to whisper in the cat's ear, she kissed his head, “Isn't he? Isn’t he jealous? Yes he is!”

“If you don't stop baby-talking the cat, I swear-”

“Is the bad man jealous? Yes! He is so jealous!” Arson purred contentedly.

“Don't call me that to him!”

“Who's my best boy? Is it Arson? Yes it is! The most handsome man!” Carefully, she lifted the cat up in the air, crooning at him.

“Jesus, stop! It's just lies at this point!”

Tucking Arson back into her arms, she shook her head sadly, “I always knew you were a petty man, but I never imagined it was this bad.”

“Yes, well, I always knew you were a woman and never imagined it was this bad.”

“Okay. Alright.” She bounced Arson lightly. “Want to explain just what the hell that is supposed to mean?” 

“Please, I can hear your maternal instincts kicking in from here.”

“Oh? What do they sound like?”

“Complete and utter horror.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she scoffed, scratching Arson's cheek. 

“Is it ridiculous?”

“Yes!”

“Is it?”

“Why would you even ask that?”

“Violet…” raising his eyebrow, he nodded his head towards her. She had to admit, standing there with a happy cat cradled against her shoulder, the evidence was pretty damning.

“So? He’s a good cat.”

“Like him enough to try to get a less furry baby?”

“Oh please,” rolling her eyes, she looked away from him, scratching the cat’s cheek again. 

“Do you want to have my brats, Countess?” A shiver ran down her spine at his words. 

“Yes, you’re so right. I’m just dying to have kids way before I’m ready, particularly with you.” 

“What are you trying to say?”

“You can’t wash a dish, so why the hell would I ever trust you with a kid?”

“You trust me with the cat.”

“He has claws!”

“So?” he shrugged, “You can give babies knives.”

“You absolutely cannot!”

“I don’t know,” leaning back he shrugged nonchalantly, barely suppressing a smirk, “sounds to me like someone’s feeling particularly defensive.”

“Am not!”

“You won’t even let me give an imaginary kid an imaginary knife, how is that not maternal?”

“It’s common fucking sense!”

“Hey,” he held a finger up warningly, “don’t use that sort of language in front of the child!”

“Unbelievable,” rolling her eyes, she placed Arson down into his lap. Without skipping a beat, he began to stroke the cat, who began to groom himself. “Sounds to me like you’re protesting my supposed protesting.”

“I would literally rather die than have a child.”

“Then why the interest?”

“Darling, it’s human nature to be unable to look away from horrific things.”

“What a shame.” She shook her head sarcastically, “You’d make such a great father. The potential is wasted.”

“Oh yes, and you’d be such a wonderful mother.”

“I would! I would be a great mom!”

“Oh yes?”

“Yes!”

“So I’m right to be worried?”

“Full offense intended, but not at all.”

Placing Arson back down onto the ground, he stood, smirking, “A smart move. A… maternal move, one might even say.”

“You’re so impossible.”

“You’ve never even thought about it?”

“Of course I’ve thought about it! Mostly in panic.”

“Mostly?”

“Look, I’m not looking to have any kids.”

“Never?” Wrapping his arms behind her, he looked down at her. “Never at all?”

“Maybe someday.”

“Oh?” watching her, he smirked, “Someday?”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s not like I have a plan or anything, but-”

“Other than having my kid.”

“Stop! You’ll give me nightmares!”

“Unbelievable. I let you have one cat and you start lusting after picket fences and PTA meetings.”

“Believe me when I say I would never let you father any fictitious child of mine.”

“I know it was intended as an insult, but I’m holding you to that.”

“Please do,” she stared at him emphatically. Still laughing, he kissed her forehead.

“Now, speaking of making children-”

“Oh my god.”


	53. "This Is Why I Fell In Love With You"/"Let's Run Away Together"

“It's bullshit, that's what it is!” He kicked the side of the desk.

“Calm down,” rolling onto her stomach, Kit glanced up at him from her bed. “Punishing my furniture won't help.”

“It was one of your friends, I know it! They framed me!”

“To be fair, it does seem like something you would do.”

“You KNOW I didn't do it! Why the hell would I burn Mr. Riley’s planner? He's not even my teacher this semester! It's a stupid prank!”

“You seem awful defensive for someone who hasn't burned any planners lately.” 

“I'm not defensive! I'm mad!”

“Okay, alright. Come here,” sitting up, she patted the bed beside her. 

“It's stupid,” he fumed, throwing himself onto the mattress. 

“I know,” putting her hands to his face, she pulled him over until his head lay in her lap. “But fighting it isn't going to get you anywhere.” Gently, she began to stroke his hair back. “Keep quiet, serve the detentions.”

“But then they win!”

“Not necessarily. Eventually they'll fuck up, and when they do, you'll be prime for vengeance, not just some narc who couldn't take his hits.” 

“See, this? This is why I fell in love with you.” Reaching up, he grabbed her face, pulling her down into a smiling kiss. 

“Yes, well. I'm a genius. Go on and tell me I'm a genius.”

“You're a genius. A beautiful genius.”

“Thank you kindly.” 

“God, I can't wait to be out of this bullshit.”

“It's not much longer now.”

“I know, but it's just so exhausting being surrounded almost exclusively by idiots.”

“Maybe you should stop hanging out by yourself.”

“I was going to say except for you, but you are a rude and spiteful woman.”

She smiled, “Nothing wrong with being an idiot. I love and accept you just the way you are.”

“How charitable. But seriously, don't you just want to explode at the thought of staying here?”

“Not so bad,” she shrugged.

“Yeah, well. You're also not being framed for arson.”

“You're making too much of it. It's a prank gone wrong.”

“All the same, I hate it.” He closed his eyes.

Sighing, she stroked at his temples. “You're almost done. Not much longer. Once you're finished, you can request to be placed deep in the mountains where you’ll never have to speak to another human being ever again.”

“Would you come with me?”

“Would you want me to.”

“I don’t want to go if you're not there.”

“Then I'll go. Let's run away together.”

“Yeah?”

“Absolutely. With my brains and your temper, we'd scare off any wild animals we cross.”

He laughed and she kissed his forehead. 


	54. "Give It Back"

“Not funny!” She reached for the book quickly, trying to grab it out of his hands. Quickly, he lifted it high above his head, delighted when she tried and failed to jump for it.

“I actually think it’s quite funny.”

“Give it back!”

“I’m sorry, Dearest, but this is for your own good.”

“How does this help me?”

“You’re right. It’s for my own good.”

“You’re such an ass!”

“See?” holding a finger up, he looked at her disapprovingly, “this is the type of language I can’t have you learning from trashy books.”

“It’s not- It’s not trashy, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“Excuse me for trying to preserve what is left of your ladylike sensibilities.”

“Fuck off!” Grabbing his shoulder, she tried to tug his arm down. Smiling widely, he watched her dangle fruitlessly from his bicep. 

“My god, you’re a tiny thing, aren’t you?”

“I literally will stab you.”

“Wouldn’t recommend it. Sure would be a shame if I were to bleed all over your book. The library would not be happy about that.”

“What the hell do you want then?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” throwing the book onto the couch so that it bounced safely to a stop, he caught her around the waist as she tried to chase after it. “Come listen to my new monologue.”

“I’ve already heard it!”

“This is a new one.”

“They’re all the same!”

“Well, that’s exceptionally rude,” he frowned as she wriggled against his grip, trying to escape his tight embrace. 

“You literally waited for me to get to the best part just to interrupt me for this?”

“Darling, I am the best part of any story.”

“You’re insufferable, that’s what you are!”

“All the same,” lifting her, he held her back flat to his chest, his cheek pressed to her side as she locked her arms, shoving up against his grip as he carried her out of the parlor, “you shall suffer me. Come listen to my monologue.”

“You’re not giving me much of a choice!” 

“If you applaud, I shall give you your book back and not interrupt you for another hour.”

“Fine! Fine! If it will get you to shut up!”

“Glad to hear it,” smiling, victorious, he placed her down in the piano room, letting her smooth out her skirt like a disgruntled cat. 

“Unbelievable.”

“Ready?” He unsuccessfully slicked his hair back, placing his feet carefully.

Sitting back in the seat, she crossed her arms, sighing, “And, action.” 


	55. "I Swear My House Is Haunted"

“Come on,” she reached for the newspaper in his hands, “I'm serious.”

Continuing to ignore her, he turned the page, pulling it closer to his face.

“Really?” she cocked an eyebrow. “Real mature.” Not even looking at her, he continued to read lazily. “If you think-” reaching for the paper, she tried to grab it again, only to have him press a hand to her abdomen, scooting her out of reach. “You can't be serious! Really? If you don't stop in the next three seconds-”

Lowering the paper an inch, he glanced around, “Did someone say something?”

“Not funny!”

“Huh. Could have sworn I heard something.”

“You dick! You're going to be sorry!”

“Must have been the wind.” Shrugging, he went back to reading. Moving quickly, she almost had it, but then his arm was loped behind her back and he was tipping her forward over the arm of the chair, nonchalantly resting his elbows on her back. 

“Fuck off!” She tried to straighten up, but he held her down firmly. 

“Darling, did you hear something?” he called loudly down the hall. “No? Must have been my imagination? Okay.”

“I'll let you starve!”

“Must be a poltergeist.”

“You're dead, you hear me?” Grabbing the paper, she finally managed to tear it from his hands. 

“My god.” He sighed dramatically, “My house is haunted.”

“I swear-”

“You hear that, Dear? We've got a ghost,” he shouted down the hall, barely restraining his amusement. 

“Yeah, you're real funny.”

“And it's cute, too.” Letting her up, he pivoted her to sit more comfortably in his lap. “If you've come to tell me the horrors of Christmas past, joke’s on you.”

“You're insufferable.”

“Doom and foreboding,” he smirked, “I like it. Come kiss me, little spirit.”

“Absolutely not! You've been a perfect ass!” And yet, despite the protest, she kissed him anyway, hateful of her own undeniability. 


	56. "I Read Your Diary"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End AU

“I don't want to talk to you, you disgusting man!”

“And here I thought we had moved past petty dishonestly.” 

“It's not dishonest. Now if you'd be kind enough to go, I have nothing to say to you.”

“See, I know for a fact that you're just lying now.”

“Really? God, you are UNBELIEVABLE. You-”

“I read your diary.”

“You did fucking WHAT?” Turning sharply, she stared at him with fire-opal eyes. 

“It was surprisingly uninteresting.”

“You can't- No! You can't do shit like that!”

“Then you should hide things better,” he shrugged. “I wasn't even trying to find it.”

“Fucking what? No! No! And it's not a diary, it's a journal!”

“Well it reads like a weather report. You need to brush up on your characterization skills. Most everyone falls flat.”

“I don't write for others’ entertainment!”

“Evidently. For a bit I thought it was just a list of the least interesting things that ever happened to you. But then…”

“Then what?” She grit her teeth painfully.

“‘God have mercy,’” he gestured before him, as if envisioning the words on a placard. “I wouldn't have made it in if it was just the boring parts, no?” 

“Who says that was about you?”

“You should write about your dreams more often. You stopped after a while,” he smirked. “I wonder why.”

“If you don't leave right now-”

“It really is telling, how much you leave out. I barely make an appearance at all. It's suspicious, really. Am I not worth remembering, or do you just not need the help?”

“I am going to kill you.”

“Oh yes, I'm sure of that. Doesn't mean I can't enjoy it.”

“Out!” She pointed to the door.

“I don't see what the problem is. There was nothing incriminating at all. Just a bunch of emotional drivel and catalogues of-”

“OUT!” She gestured towards the door so sharply he actually obeyed, albeit amusedly. Before leaving entirely, he paused in the doorway, pensive.

“The weather was code, yes? Because you said it rained last week but-” 

Moving quickly, he just barely managed to avoid the box of pencils she threw at his head. 


	57. "Do You Think You Can Teach Me That?"

He knew he was watching. Steadying his position, he took only the briefest moment to aim, cursing when he missed the center of the target. Picking up another knife, he held the blade, taking his time with this one. He heard the door open just as it landed into the wooden panel with a “thwump.”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Turning around, he acted surprised to see her, “Nothing.” Picking up another knife, he resituated himself, balancing his weight.

“Nothing? Because it looks like you’re fucking up all of my knives.”

“My knives.” Letting go, he managed to restrain a yell as the knife pierced nearer to the center. “I paid for them.”

“And now you’ll starve because of it. Why don’t you just use your own knives?”

“I did,” not taking his eyes from the target, he gestured to the other piece of wood, thoroughly impaled, which he had set aside. “Ran out after a while.”

“Fucking unbelievable,” he could hear the desperation in her voice. Feeling his lip twitch into a smile, he threw the next knife, grimacing when it went a few inches to the left. “Why don’t you just take them out?”

“Don’t have time,” picking up the next knife, he began to aim. “Mastery requires persistent dedication.” 

“You’re throwing knives. How hard can it be?”

“How hard?” he scoffed, turning away for the first time to look at her. She stood, watching him, her face drawn into a pout, arms tightly crossed over her chest. “I don’t know, how hard was it for Mozart to learn to compose? How hard was it for Shakespeare to write Romeo and Juliet?”

“You’re not fucking Mozart. You’re an idiot with a knife.”

“I’m an idiot with several knives, and I am a force to be reckoned with!”

“Then give me back mine and use your own!”

“That’ll cut the number of knives I have in half!”

“And?”

“Less knives!”

“Fucking- It’s not difficult! You take the knife, you throw it! Doesn’t require practice!”

“I’d like to see you try!”

“Yeah? Fine!” Taking the next blade he had laid out, she gripped the handle, eyeing the target.

“Here, move your foot back-”

“I’ve got it, back off.” Moving her hand to feel the weight of the knife, she catapulted it forward, sinking it deep into the the second ring. For a moment, both of them stared, silently in awe. 

Clearing his throat, he leaned in, his voice a low whisper, “Okay, so, do you think you can teach me how to do that?”

 


	58. "I'm Going To Kill You"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End AU

“I hate you,” she cried, angrily swiping at her tears with the ball of her palm. 

“I'm aware.”

Not having anything else to say, she simply continued to cry quietly, clutching her arms frantically. 

Sighing, he gave in, walking over to her, “Pick yourself up. This is unseemly.”

“Fuck OFF!” 

“If you want to sit around feeling sorry for yourself, that's fine, but don't subject others to it.”

“I said FUCK OFF!” Grabbing the nearest object, which just happened to be a dented hairbrush, she threw it at him. 

Barely managing to dodge it, he frowned, thoroughly irritated, “Well now, that's unnecessary.”

“I hate you! I hate you!”

“A temper tantrum. How mature.”

“I'm going to fucking kill you, you bastard!” Launching herself at him, she smacked his chest. Catching her by the shoulders, he managed to hold her far enough away that she couldn't hit him. Reacting swiftly, she kicked him in the shin, causing him to drop her with a shout. “Don't you fucking dare touch me!”

“You're the one who hit me, damnit!”

“I don't care! Don't talk to me!”

“Then get out of my fucking room! This is where I live, idiot!”

“You conceited,” grabbing the pillow from his bed, she began to rail on him, “terrible, evil motherfucker! I'm going to KILL you, you bastard!”

“Where the hell did you learn words like that?” Holding his arms up, he tried to protect himself.

“I'm going to skin you alive! I'm going to tear you limb from limb! I'm going to- I'm going to-” dropping the pillow she burst back into tears.

Warily, he watched her, hesitant to release his defensive stance. But once she sunk to her knees, weeping, it became pretty clear that she wasn't a threat anymore so much as she was terrified. 

“It's… fine. You're fine.” Uncertain what exactly he should be doing in order to best insure he wouldn't be hit again, he reached down, patting her shoulder. 

“It's not fine. I hate you.”

“As you've mentioned. Fucking hell, I wish I knew earlier you were this easily undone.”

“You bastard-” looking up, she reached for him again.

Quickly, he stepped back, “Alright! Not the time for jokes, apparently.”

“I'm going to kill you, I'm…” trailing off, she stared into the distance. 

“That,” he sighed, “I have no doubt of at all.”


	59. More Meaningless Sex

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End AU

She stomped into the room, the glare in her eyes promising chaos. Quickly, he shoved all of his papers to the floor.

“I'm not doing anything-”

“I don't care what you're doing.” Pulling at the collar of her painfully unsexy jumpsuit, she unsnapped the buttons quickly.

“Then what's happening?”

“Stop talking.” Her tone was crisp, simmeringly livid. 

“Are you-”

“I'm fine.” Pulling the fabric over her shoulders, she let it fall to the floor, leaving her bare save for her underwear. “I'm about to use you, okay?”

“Of course,” starting to stand, he reached towards her as she stepped out of her clothes. 

“Take off your shirt,” pushing him back into his chair, she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. 

“Right away,” his heart thrumming, he couldn't help smiling. “So, you finally decided-”

“No talking.” Climbing into his lap, she straddled him. “Just touch me.”

“You don't want me to-” the end of his sentence fled his mind as she grabbed his hand, pressing it to her breast. Just as quickly, she kissed him, wasting no time at all in pressing her tongue to his, sliding it behind his teeth. “Feisty,” he muttered when they eventually broke for air, slipping an arm behind her, unhooking her bra. 

“Just so you know, this has nothing to do with you,” reaching down, she pulled open his belt with a click before unbuttoning his pants.

He groaned, “I'm aware. Don't care in the slightest.” Gripping her ass, he rolled her hips forward against him, moaning as she kissed him once more. 

“If there was anybody else-”

“But there isn't. And so the honor falls to me,” still smirking, smug, he gripped her left breast, squeezing it. She winced. “Of course, if I’m going to clear my schedule for you, you’re going to owe me a favor.”

“No I don't.”

“Please, you barge in here, strip me naked and expect me to grovel? No. I can see you're all in a tizzy so I'll do this for you, but the next time we meet, you're getting on your knees for me. Alright?”

“Fine. Whatever. Deal.”

“Excellent,” elated with his double victory, he gripped her tightly at the waist, bucking his hips up against her. Lacing her arms behind his neck, she pressed her lips to the crook of his neck, kissing along his jaw, more teeth than mouth. 

“Careful, Brat,” he groaned, “you don't want to leave marks.”

“Given the opportunity, I would bruise your entire fucking body.”

“Salacious. I like it.”

“I don't care what you like.”

“But I do.” Keeping an arm behind her, he pressed his hand firm to her breast, pushing her back. “And I don't care for your tone.”

“That's a lie.”

“Fair enough, but all the same-”

“All the same,” she pressed her hands to the sides of his face, holding him still, “you're going to shut up and fuck me.”

“Yes ma’am,” he smirked, sarcastic.

She groaned when he kissed her, tightening her fingers in his hair as he bit her lower lip, tugging on it. Roughly, he moved beneath her jaw, down her neck, leaning her back far enough to kiss her bare chest, running his tongue over her. She squeaked as he pinched her with his teeth, leaving dark purple marks in his wake. 

“Now pay attention. There’s an art to the bruise. No one else sees it, but you,” he kissed her other breast, pulling back with a pop, “will be left with a nice memento of the time you clamored into my lap and begged me to fuck you.”

“Not what happened.”

“There are different sorts of begging, Dear. Sometimes it's words. Sometimes,” palming her chest, he ran his thumbs over her pert nipples, his mouth a breath from hers, “it's stripping yourself bare like the prettiest little gift, unwrapped nice and easy for me.”

“The deal was that you'd shut up.”

“But you like hearing what I have to say, don't you?” He kissed her quickly, a soft peck, grinding up against her.

“Go to hell.”

“You don’t want to know all about how hard you make me?”

“Show, don’t tell,” reaching down the front of his pants, she touched him, stroking his stiff arousal. 

“Sure thing, Dearest,” gripping her ponytail, he tugged it just hard enough to pull her head back, making her scowl. Tugging his waistband towards herself, she pulled his erection from his pants, leaving her fingers against the base.

“Go on,” he purred the words through his teeth, “you can touch it.” 

Not entirely certain of what she was doing, she slowly slid her hand over him, watching for his reaction. Groaning, he bucked into her hand, clenching his jaw as he smiled. More sure, she slid her thumb along his entire length, tracing over him, watching him clinically. And then, she was brushing her finger over the tip, and he was moaning into her touch, digging his fingers into her thighs. Pulling back, she slid off his lap, tugging his pants along with her, leaving the fabric caught about his ankles. Just as quickly, she slid her panties off as well, stepping out of them before climbing back into his lap. Running his hands from her knees to her waist, he enjoyed the softness of her form, the gentle way her body curved in nearly imperceptible undulations. 

Pressing herself flat to his chest, she let him move her, situating her perfectly so that he could begin to press himself inside her. She didn’t fight it this time, relaxing against him so that he easily penetrated her.

“Oh, shit-” she grit her teeth, her calves flexing as she pointed her toes, “fuck.”

“Right, should have warned you it’d be a better ride this way,” he groaned, smiling, tugging her hips down, her lips parting into a gasp. “But I knew you wouldn’t have a problem taking it, yes?” 

“Fuck, I-” her face screwed up as she whined, a whimper building in her chest as he pressed her down until she was flush against him.

“There we go. Good girl.” Not wasting any time, he began to lift her by the hips, thrusting into her roughly. Groaning, she caught her hands behind his neck, holding on as he moved her to his rhythm. She cried out, her toes curling, shoulders drawing in as she shuddered. Soaking in the moment, he let his gaze wander over the entire perfect picture before him, the lovely surrender of her open lips, pink tongue pressed to her teeth, the delight of her bare chest, slight bounce of her breasts as he took his pleasure with her. Smiling, he gazed down to her navel, to the swell where her hips became thighs, the thatch of hair and tight wetness where she became him. 

Unable to resist, he gripped her ponytail again, tilting her head back so that he could slide his tongue over the hollow of her jaw. He felt her shudder again, felt the grip of her fingers as she cried out, her pulse quick and heavy beneath him. Digging his nails into her leg, he sped up, devouring the sounds she gave in reply, the staccatoed groans broken up by his thrusts.  

“Do you like it when I fuck you like the brat you are?”

“Go to hell,” he could hear the force it took to get the words past her teeth and laughed.

“Quite. Answer enough for me.” Tugging her hair one more time, he moved his grip to her waist until her skin was dimpling beneath his tight hold. Fervently, he moved her, felt the press of her knees against his thighs as she cried out again, her own grip so tight he thought she might draw blood. She was still so nice, so tight and soft and wet for him, so perfectly perched upon the edge of destruction. He swelled at the thought of taking the last of her virtue, of finally tipping her over that edge, undoing her in entirety. 

“Not so rough!”

“Don’t worry, you can take it,” sliding his hands back to grip her ass, he pulled her forwards until her back arched in, perky breasts soft against his bare skin. “You wanted me to fuck you, and that’s what I’m going to do.” 

She groaned again, the sound becoming a buzz in her mouth, cracking as she took a sharp breath in. Moaning his own pleasure, he slid his tongue over her sternum, feeling the way she flinched and shivered, and then he was catching her naked breast in his mouth, humming his satisfaction as he brushed his teeth against her. 

Crying out, she pressed her breathless lips to the side of his face, holding onto him, “Oh, fuck! Touch me--Please,” her voice broke, strained and high. 

Sliding his hands up her back, he brought them to her chest, cupping her breasts before trailing over her ribs, down her thighs. She pressed herself to him, buried her face in his neck, the sound of her voice muffled against him as he slid a hand back up her leg, teasing her clit with two fingers. He could feel her nails on his shoulders, the warmth of her stuttering breath, thought for a moment that she might even be crying. But then she was pressing her teeth to his collarbone, panting her climax against him. Going limp, she held onto him as he gripped her by the waist, holding her up as he continued to thrust into her.

“There we go,” he hissed in her ear, smug, “Very good.” She whimpered at each thrust, overly sensitive and utterly drained as he continued to buck into her. Bringing a hand up her back, he tangled his fingers into her hair, grasping her tightly. 

She hummed a strained, high-pitched note against his bare skin, her tongue pressing against him, “Shit, I-”

“I’ve got it,” gritting his teeth, he slowed the pace to full, deep strokes, glad when she gasped her approval. “I’m almost there.”

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck,” she groaned, breathing in sharply with a groan.

“Where the fuck did you learn to talk like that?” he grimaged, so very very painfully close. “Christ, Violet, damnit-”

Not bothering to respond, she leaned back, arching her back with a moan, “Oh my god-”

“Goddamnit-”

“I’m-”

“Go on and come for me, you little show-off. Let me know how much you like my cock.”

Too occupied to respond, she drew her knees in tight against him, her hands digging into his biceps as she groaned, her face screwed up in concentrated bliss. Catching her behind the neck, he forced his tongue into her mouth, wanting her to be very aware of exactly who she was coming for. 

Lifting her up, he brought her back down into his lap swiftly so that his erection was caught between them as he finished, elated and strungout on the feeling of her tongue pushing back, the clink of her teeth hitting his, the victorious intoxication at having such a specimen in his grasp. Breaking away, she panted against his mouth, their breaths intermingling into a humid mess of lust and poor decisions. 

“Damnit, I can’t believe-” she groaned, leaning back.

“Sorry. Call it a crime of passion.”

“I’ll call it something.” Sliding off his lap, she grabbed a towel she found on his floor. “You really need to practice shutting up.”

“And deny the world my brilliance?”

“I think the world would survive,” dropping the towel back onto the floor, she picked up her underwear, sliding them back on.

“You don’t seem to mind it nearly as much as you say.”

“I promise you, I do.”

“You want to be a liar? That’s fine. Just remember this moment the next time you come clamoring for me to tell you whose brat you are.”

“First of all,” she held a finger up, shrugging her jumpsuit back on, “fuck you. Seriously, just, fuck you. Second, you can go straight to hell.”

“I’m trying,” he shrugged, smugly watching her.

“When I kill you, and I will kill you, I will personally watch to see if the devil is real just so that I can get the pleasure of seeing him escort you to hell himself.”

“And if he isn’t?”

“Then I’ll give you hell myself in the meantime.”

“Fair enough. Before you leave though, you might want to do up that last button. Don’t want to leave any incriminating evidence laying about.”

“Fuck you.”

“Anytime,” he winked, thrilled when she stormed back out, flustered as ever. 


	60. Trader Joes AU Set Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TJAU, obviously

If she could do one thing, it would be to ban customers from the store. This woman must have gone out of her way to find the shortest employee available only to ask them to grab the highest item. Straining, she just barely managed to touch the bottom of the package. Damn the top shelves; what the hell kind of idiot would put things up this high? 

She felt something press stiffly to her back and saw an arm reach around her, easily plucking the box from the shelf. 

“Aren't you supposed to be stocking?” She could hear the look of reprimandation in his voice as he brought the package down to her hands.

“Someone needed my help.”

“You don't look too helpful.”

Sighing, she turned, very quickly noting the fact that she was staring directly at his chest. Slowly tilting her head up, she met his shiny eyes. 

“I'm just trying to do my job.”

“That's a first.” Smirking, he didn't bother to step back, staying very much in her personal space. 

She could feel her pulse in her throat, quick and scattered. “Is there something you need?”

“Just wanted to see how our resident troublemaker is doing.” Frowning slightly, he brushed a speck of something off the shoulder of her shirt. She felt the slight pressure of his fingers, the nonchalant touch red hot against her. “My god, at least pretend to take pride in your appearance, Baudelaire.” 

She grit her teeth, livid and flustered in

her anger. “I'll see what I can do.”

“Also, I wanted to let you know that Victoria can't work tonight.”

“Okay?”

“Think you can handle working closing shift yourself?”

“All myself?”

“I'll be here, obviously.” Folding his hands behind himself, he watched her interestedly.

“That's fine. I'm fine with that. Why wouldn't I be?”

“I just wanted to be sure you were aware. It's not as if you have much of a choice.” 

“Then why ask?”

“Watch the tone.” Stepping back, the vacant space he left flooded her in panicked relief. “When you’re done, go break down some boxes out back. And be sure to keep them flat; none of that space-wasting nonsense we had last week.”

“Yes sir,” saluting him sarcastically, she managed to turn away before letting her face twist into an unhappy grimace. 

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


She already had her hand on the door, ready to leave when he called to her across the vacant aisles.

“Baudelaire! You can’t go just yet.”

“My shift ended--I’ve already done everything for closing.”

“I can see that, but I need to speak with you. Privately.”

“But the last bus leaves in-” 

“I'll give you a ride.”

“I really should-” 

“My office, now.”

Tortured, she looked out the window sadly before shrugging her coat back off again. 

 

Hesitant, she took the seat in front of his desk. This was it; he was finally going to fire her. There was a distinct click as he shut the door, making the hairs on her neck stand on end. 

“Is there something-”

“How would you feel about making a little extra money, Baudelaire?”

“I-” she blinked, “wouldn't be opposed. I'm confused, though. You said I was a bad employee.”

“Oh, you are.” Slowly, he trailed his way to the front of his desk, leaning back against it, once more getting unnecessarily close to her. Crossing his arms, he relaxed, keeping her fixed beneath his gaze. “I'm not giving you a raise.”

She fidgeted nervously, “I don't understand then.” 

“No, you have other talents I would quite like to put to use, if you'd agree. All payment would be under the table of course, and twice your current rate.” 

Granted, her current pay wasn't much, but tripling it wasn't nothing. Suspicious, she eyed him warily, “In exchange for what?”

“That's the beauty of it; you don't even have to do anything, not really. Just sit back and enjoy your easy money.”

“In exchange for what, Olaf? Answer the question.” 

“In exchange,” uncrossing his arms, he leaned down towards her, “for your… company.” 

The acid in her stomach rolled. “You want to pay me to have sex with you?” She cocked her eyebrow in disbelief. 

“Wrong. I want to fuck you; the payment is just a means to that end.”

The words electrified her skin, jumpstarting her heart. Despite her best efforts, she knew he could see the racing of her pulse. Tightening her fingers in her lap, she quickly began calculating her best escape route. 

“You are such a sad man,” slowly, she shook her head. 

“I can keep you in comfort. A pretty thing like yourself shouldn't be worried about making ends meet.”

“I don't need help. I'm only here until my accounts are settled, and then-” 

“Just until the accounts are settled, then.” She saw his eyes shine, his lip curl up. “You said it yourself, not long.”

“Exactly. Which means I don’t need your money.” 

“How close are you to paying this month's rent, Dear? Wouldn't the extra help?” She hesitated. Of course it would help, but… No. No, she could not be seriously considering this. “Bureaucracy has a way of taking its time, especially when it comes to finances. So why don't we help each other out?”

“Why?” she barely managed to get the words out. “What about me-”

“Oh please,” his voice dropped to a growl, “I've wanted to eat you up from the moment I saw you.” As he leered down at her, she remembered just how much larger than her he was and wished she wasn’t sitting.

“Aren't there some sort of rules about workplace relationships?”

“I would hardly call it a relationship; it's more of an understanding. Besides,” leaning forward, he pressed his hands to the arms of the chair, effectively trapping her, “I won't tell if you don't.” Smirking, he perused her easily, openly taking his time. “What do you say?”

Again, she hesitated. It wouldn't be long until everything was settled with the bank. But still, they had to survive until then… 

“No one would know?” She looked up at him, exhausted. 

“Oh, Darling,” drawing a hand from the back of her neck to her chin, he tilted her face upwards until her lips were just beneath his, “I insist they don't.”

“You’ll pay in cash?”

“Of course.”

“Just for a month or so.”

“That’s all the time I need,” slowly, he tucked his thumb against her teeth, pressing it to the tip of her tongue. 

“Okay,” she breathed the word lightly, not wanting to bite him while in so precarious a position. 

“Good,” smiling, he looked exactly like a snake, ready to unhinge his jaw and swallow her whole. 

 


	61. "I Read Your Diary" The Remix

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End AU

“Hey,” she walked in briskly, not bothering to knock.

“Not now, I’m busy.”

“Busy? With what?”

“Writing.”

“Well, I sure hope it’s better than THIS garbage.” With a thud, she dropped the crinkled book onto his makeshift desk. Looking up in surprise, he narrowed his eyes.

“And where did you get that?”

“Literally right on top of your bed.”

“You were snooping!”

“It doesn’t count as snooping if you leave it out in the open.”

“Well, maybe if you would mind your damn business-”

“First off, you have no right to talk. No right at all. And second,” grabbing the book again before he could stop her, she started thumbing through the pages, “what the actual hell is wrong with you?”

“What? Jealous because my journal’s more interesting than yours?”

“Day twenty-seven,” she began to read, stiff and irritated, “have gained control over the island as single and ruling lord.”

“And?”

“Day one hundred and two,” she skipped forward, “managed to save the day yet again. Wondering if I should let these orphans starve to death and have it over with,” she cocked her eyebrow.

“I didn’t, so, you’re welcome.”

“Because it’s all bullshit! You haven’t done anything! The rest of the entry is just casting for when they, quote unquote, inevitably compose ballads, plays, and movies in your honor!”

“You have no right to be upset, I cast you quite well.”

“Day three hundred and sixty,” she thumbed ahead again, “Saw a large shrimp today. On closer inspection it was just a piece of plastic. Will update as events unfold.”

“You can't blame me for that! I'm working with shitty material here!” 

“Alright. Alright. And you know what? If it was just boring, I could deal with that. But-”

“But?” 

“Day one thousand, one hundred and twelve.”

“OKAY, actually, you don't need to read that-”

Standing up, he made a desperate grab for the book, but she was too quick.

“Finally fucked that brat today.”

“You've made your point, you don't-”

“It was invigorating, the win. So erotic. Poor thing didn't know what was coming until she did.” Sidestepping, she evaded his frantic grasp. “She'll be ruined forever, having gone ahead and started with the best she'll ever have, but I imagine the sacrifice was worth it.”

“Okay! Okay! Stop now!” Still reaching, he got a hold of the back of her shirt, but she wrenched out of his grip. 

“What joy, to be able to practice my art again. Practice, of course, being a relative term. Even a master's work is never done, and I doubt after the events of tonight that she'll have much objection to the matter.” Throwing the book, she hit him squarely on the chest. “Hard to believe, but it all goes downhill from there.”

“I happen to think it's very flattering writing! It's not every day you're immortalized in print.”

“Burn it.”

“No! The world deserves to know!”

“Better they don't.”

“You only have yourself to blame for it! No one made you read it!”

“Get rid of it!”

“No!”

“Then at least hide it better!”

Pissed, he slammed a pillow over it, “There! Problem solved.”

“Listen,” holding a finger out, she jabbed at him, “the next time I see it, I'm burning it.” 

“Fine! Fine.” Crossing his arms, he mimicked her posture, sighing. “So. Now that you've distracted me, would you want to-”

“Unbelievable!” Throwing her hands in the air, she stormed out.

“Your loss,” shrugging, he sat back down, resuming his writing. 

 


	62. "Already? Do I Really Have That Much Of An Effect On You?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TJAU

“You wanted to see me?” Untying the apron behind her neck, Violet placed it down on the counter. 

“One moment,” furrowing his brow, he checked a quick mark onto a piece of paper. 

She leaned back against the counter, unsuccessfully trying to catch his eye. “Really? First you ask me to stay late and then you ignore me?”

“I said one moment.” Placing his clipboard to the side, he pressed his hands to the counter. “I'm a busy man.”

“Oh, have you made other plans for your evening then?”

Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, releasing a slow breath, “I'm tired, Baudelaire.”

“Oh,” uncrossing her arms, she shifted uncomfortably, “sorry, I thought-”

“I only mean to say that I don't have the energy to play coy with you. Now,” lifting an arm up, he beckoned her forward, “be a good girl and come here.” 

Stepping into his grasp, she brushed her hands over his cheeks, cupping the sides of his face as he leaned down to kiss her lips. Not wasting any time at all, he dug his fingers into her, tugging her tight against him as forcefully, he kissed her open mouth, causing her neck to crane as she strained to manage the height disparity. She groaned as he ground against her, his wandering hands gripping her by the rear as he shoved her against the edge of the counter, tongue busily pushing behind her teeth. 

“Pretty little thing,” he whispered the words in her ear when they broke for air, “worried I would forget you?” She shivered, the hair of his beard coarse against her cheek as he spoke. “How could I, stuck watching you all day long? You goddamn tease.”

“I didn't do anything,” she gasped as he tugged at her ear with his teeth.

“Just you standing there is enough. Do you know how much time I spent thinking about bending you over this counter and having my way with you?”

“No?” Her voice was a flutter of sound, high and breathy. 

“Too much. You have no clue what you do to me, brat.” His voice dropped to a growl, his fingers digging into her legs, sharp and wanting as he pushed his hips against her. 

“Be nice,” she tried her best to hide the tremble from her voice.

“I'll let you have Saturday off if I can be mean.” 

“With pay?”

“You're bleeding me dry, Baudelaire.”

“That's the deal. Take it or leave it.”

“Fine, with pay. But I'd better get my money's worth.” Tucking his fingers beneath the waist of her pants, he slid them around to the front quickly, unbuttoning the close. 

Startled, she pushed him back, “Right here? But-”

“I’ve locked up. Besides,” tugging the fabric down, he let it fold around her upper thighs, “I mean to find out if you look just as pretty bent over as I imagined.”

“I don’t think-”

“Good, it’s not your strong suit.” Tangling his fingers into her hair, he pressed his mouth to hers, holding her firm against himself as he slid a hand between her legs, palming her over her panties. She groaned again, the sound almost a whimper, her breath hitching at the warmth of his touch. “Now, take off your shirt for me.” 

 

Letting go of him, she crossed her arms over her body, slowly pulling off the painfully unsexy polo shirt all employees were outfitted with. 

“Much better,” leaning back to get a good look at her, he ran his hands from her hips all the way up to her ribs. Brushing his thumbs along the wire of her cloth bra, he squeezed her breasts lightly, taking his time to soak the image in. “I have half a mind to take off Saturday as well and pay you to just sit naked in my house.”

“It’s too cold for that.”

“Nonsense. I'd keep you very warm indeed. Besides, you'd look so pretty, all laid out in my bed.”

“I'm sure,” feeling awkward, she looked away.

“I want you looking at me when I speak to you, Baudelaire.” His tone was crisp, curt, and he enjoyed the moment of fearful hesitation in her face before she turned back to him. “There we go. See? You are capable of learning, if you’d only apply yourself.”

“What is-”

Pressing a finger to her lips, he silenced her. “That’s enough. Now. Show me how good you can be.” 

Not moving, she glowered. 

Tutting softly, he shook his head, “You’ve got to earn that Saturday. You want your treat? Show me how good you can be.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed you liked your women good,” tugging at the waist of his pants, she unbuckled his belt. 

Smugly, he smiled, “It’s a subjective term.” Pulling his own shirt over his head, he tangled his fingers into her hair, kissing her deeply as she undid his pants, pulling the waist down until her shaking fingers were touching his still clothed cock. Ever gentle, she slid her palm against him, his stiff erection tenting his boxers, the warmth of her hand both exhilarating and blissful. Taking her damn time, she slipped the elastic of his underwear over him, the sudden coldness of the air both harsh and refreshing as she took him back into her hand, her warm fingers curling around him. Digging his nails into her sides, he pressed her backwards, “Keep going, tease.” Much to his delight, she complied, her rough fingers wonderfully taunt. Kissing her again, he gripped her by the thighs, her teeth hitting his own as, startled, she grabbed him about the shoulder. Drawing one hand up over her stomach, he pulled down the fabric of her bra, rolling a thumb over her peaked nipple, pressing down against her breast. Reflexively, she whined, arching into the touch, causing his cock to rub against her bare skin.

“Shit,” he groaned the word into her mouth. “Oh fuck.”

“I thought there was no swearing in the store.”

“Watch your tone, brat. Don’t forget your place.”  

“And what place is that?”

 

“The place of someone,” rocking his hips forward, he pressed his erection against her, “who desperately wants me to fuck them.”

“Desperately? I think you’re overselling yourself.”

“Oh, yes?” Drawing his hand down, he brushed it over her stomach, her hips, before finally tucking it between her legs, rubbing at her over her panties. Tightening her grip, she gasped into his mouth, his tongue flicking against hers as his fingers ventured beneath the cloth, touching her softly. “Well! Perhaps you aren’t so good after all.” 

She groaned as he kissed her neck, fingers rubbing at her slowly, easily sliding against her, tempting her towards bliss, “Shit, I-”

“Why would you think you could lie to me, Violet? You like it just as much as I do, you little tease.”

“I wasn’t teasing.”

“No? You expect me to believe that?”

“I just-” 

Taking her hand, he pressed it back against him, curling her fingers around his arousal as he used her hand to pump himself. “Do you want to be a tease, Violet?” 

“No,” Her voice was more tremor than sound.

“Good, then turn around for me, nice and easy.” Not waiting for her to actually listen, he tugged her forward by the hips, and spinning her quickly, rutted against her. Pressing his erection to her backside, he pinned her against the counter, his breath hot on the side of her face as he groaned. 

 

Slowly, he brought his hands back up, enjoying the swell of her hips as he lingered over her waist before coming back up to her chest, catching her breasts in both hands. She whined, her shoulders pulling in as he her her firm to his chest, head spinning with the softness of her against him as she faltered, her hands pressing flat to the cold metal counter. 

“Good, good girl,” kissing the incline of her throat, he pressed a palm to her sternum, holding her flat to his chest as his other hand wandered down between her legs once more. She gasped, trying to push back against him as he began to rub at her clit in a quick rhythm, steady and demanding. 

“Oh my god!” Arching into his grasp, she lifted a hand to cover her mouth, hiding out a frustrated squeak. 

“You like that, brat?” he murmured, growling in her ear.

“Don't stop!”

“You trying to tell me what to do? How to play with my own toys?”

“Please don't stop!”

“Much better.”

“Shit! I'm-” her voice cracked into a half strangled groan.

“Already? Do I really have that much of an effect on you?” Smirking, he tightened the grip he held on her breast.

“Crap, Olaf, I-”

“There you go, little brat,” he hissed the words in her ear, thoughts muddled with the sounds of her heady gasps, “go on and come for me.” 

“Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck,” she groaned, her voice deliciously resting behind her teeth, a violent buzz of strained need.

“Yes, you like when I tell you what to do, don’t you?” placing a goading kiss beneath her jaw, he cupped her other breast, gripping it tightly in the interest of fairness. She cried out, wincing at the sharpness of his touch. Nipping the skin along her throat, he bent her forwards, leaning over her until she was pressed flat to the metal surface, quite thoroughly caught beneath him. “You like being mine, don’t you, Baudelaire?” Unable to properly respond, she whined a strained note, breaking into gasping breaths as he forced the orgasm out of her, unrelenting in his attention. 

Just as quickly as he had begun, he stopped, drawing his hand away smoothly.

“There we go. Good girl.” More gentle than before but still firm, he brushed his hand over the back of her thighs before tucking his fingers against her again. Exhausted, she whimpered as he slid two fingers inside her, slowly thrusting. “Are you ready for me, little brat?” 

“Gentle,” she gasped the word, her tone nervous and strained as he pinned her, kissing the back of her neck.

“Oh, don’t worry; I plan on taking my time with this.” Pulling his hand away, he gripped her tightly as, groaning, he pressed inside her. Crying out, she gasped, her pointed toes just barely touching the floor. Steadily, he began to thrust, his fingers dimpling her hips as he dug his nails into her, not wanting to let go.

“Good girl,” he moaned, smiling as he thrust, leaning back to more thoroughly enjoy the sight of her before him. Pressing a hand to the middle of her back, he kept her flat, loving the sight of her lips parting in gasps, her flustered grasp making her fingers white with tension. Rolling his hips, he thrust into her in slow, deep strokes, enjoying the moment. “Very pretty. So nice and well behaved, aren’t you? You might be a good girl, but you like bad men.”

“Shut up,” she groaned, her teeth grit as she pinched her face in concentration.

“Don’t lie to me, brat. You think of getting fucked nearly as often as I think of fucking you. You want it bad, don’t you?” Sharply, he thrust all the way inside her, causing her to cry out again.

“Fuck! Oh my god-”

“That’s right,” smirking, he continued to thrust into her roughly. Leaning down, he ran his tongue against her neck, feeling the thrumming speed of her pulse. “You like it when I take what’s mine, don’t you, Violet?” Gasping, she moaned, the sound desperate and wanting. Steadily, he rocked into her as, sliding his hand up her spine, he brought it to the top of her throat, pinching her jaw between his fingers, “Answer me when I speak to you, Baudelaire. Need I remind you, until further notice, you belong to me.”

“Shit- I’m going to-” 

“Not yet. Whose are you, brat?”

“Yours,” she whimpered the word, clenching her jaw as she struggled towards her climax.

“Again.”

“I'm yours,” the words fell heavy from her tongue, low and confessional.

Smiling ravenously, he ran his tongue over the side of her throat again before nipping at her ear with his teeth, “Good girl. Now, go on and show me how much you like it when I fuck you.” Holding her tight, he thrust hard and sudden into her. Gasping, she cried out, her cheek flush with the counter as she whined, her toes curling, feet lifting from the floor. Groaning, he held her tightly as he began to pick up his rhythm, enjoying the whimpers she gave in time with his strokes. “There we go. Pretty little brat.” Thrusting more quickly now, he moaned, panting against the back of her neck, “Pretty little Violet.”

Desperate for his own release, he closed his eyes, breathing in the heady scent of her; her beneath him, under him, her soft skin and dark hair fully within his grasp. He listened to the sounds she made; the hitch of her breath, hiccuping squeaks, moans resonating from depths he didn't know she had. She was almost pleasant when relaxed, no longer all sharp edges and quick tongue. Again, he thought of his offer to have her in his house naked for an entire day. He thought of her, demure and adoring, kneeling between his legs, cooking for him, smiling when he pat her head and pulled her into his lap. 

Gasping against the dimple of her spine, he pulled back, gripping her tightly by the hips as he came, still very much seeing the look on her face behind his closed eyes. Panting, he slowly relaxed his grasp, feeling her ease onto the balls of her feet. 

 

Gingerly straightening up, she arched her back, trying to crack it as she tied her hair up, the room having suddenly become much too hot for it to be tolerable any longer. Lazily, he wrapped an arm around her, cupping her breast as he kissed along her neck. 

“I'm going to have so many friction burns. You really should shave that thing,” glancing over her shoulder, she chastised him half-heartedly. 

He simply hummed in reply, tightening his grip on her breast before breaking free, slowing beginning to tug his clothes back on. 

“Any chance I could get a ride home?” She hated the hesitation in her tone, becoming even more offended when he sighed, looking her over.

“I suppose.”

“Thanks ever so much for your generosity,” she lilted the words sarcastically as he threw her shirt to her. 

“I'm nothing if not generous.”

“I'll agree to that.” She wasn't sure if he heard, but she didn't dare repeat it, not wanting to lose her ride. All the same she could have sworn she saw him smirk. 

 


	63. Multi-Prompt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> -I have you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth  
> -We were dancing but all of a sudden it’s a slow song and we’re standing here awkwardly staring at each other  
> -I just told you I liked you but now I’m shy and say “never mind, forget it” and why are you looking at me like that?  
> -We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair

They are fighting again, and his words are so harsh she swears she could sharpen knives on them. When she shoves him it is entirely with the intent of shattering something; she wants him to break. When he hits against the wall he laughs, and his shirt balls in her fists as the anger inside her explodes into a white rage. When he smiles, it is with his teeth, the curve of his gums leering down at her, and she cannot meet his eyes. 

“What will you do, then?” he says with his entire body, curing the question mark around her waist. “What will you do?” And she wishes he would stop smiling, wishes he would yell again, the sound of his laugh so entirely worse. His hands cup her back, and she hates how warm his chest is, hates how fast his heart races, adrenaline still choking back breath. And when she pulls him down low, it is because she wants him to stoop. She wants him low as she feels. But he is a viper, and his lips are as warm as the blood in her throat and for the moment, that makes it equal footing.

 

In a different life, she would be less harsh, he thinks. He doesn’t know if he would like that. He tries to picture it; the crinoline dresses, pearls, her arm lazily stretched behind the couch. In this timeline he would be kind; he takes her hand, walks her softly until she folds into his arm, smiling so soft it diminishes the beauty of the pearls teasing her neck. When the music slows, she looks at him. She is not a dancer, so he is gentle when he begins to lead. She follows his steps until she doesn’t, and when he kisses her, it is with a sigh of relief.

 

In a different life, he wakes up before her. He watches her sleep until she blinks awake into soft light. There is a moment where they stare, and then she is brushing his hair back, smiling, pulling him down into a tired kiss. He lets her roll him forward until she is beneath him, and then he is kissing her neck, her shoulder, his hands pushing up her thighs, up, up… 

 

In this life she bites his lip. Just as rough, he drags his fingers to her jaw, tilts her head up, makes her stretch to reach as he restiffens his back. He is not smiling anymore but it is not because he is not happy. When she groans against his teeth, he imagines how cute she would look undone, wishes she could be just a little less trouble to keep, but then her fingers are in his hair and it is right again. Throughout his life, he has had the air punched from his gut more often than he would have liked, and when she kisses him, it is like that. He wants to pick her up and toss her down, make her feel the plummet of anxiety right before he lets her land safe, still entirely within his grasp. He wants her to know what it feels like. In a different life, he says he loves her and she doesn’t hate him for it. 

 

She can feel the vindication in the kiss. For a moment, the steel wool hatred melts down into something much more sinister, and the thought is abrasive within her. For a weak moment, she wishes they could stop, wishes she could do better than throwing love like daggers. But this is how it is. In another life, she lets him crane her lips up to his own, doesn’t mind the placating softness in his voice when he laughs at her. In another life she tells him she loves him and even there he wants to run away. The consistency of regret ties all her eventualities together. In her other life, he stays, and they are both afraid.

His hands push up her dress and she wishes he wanted her. When he kisses her, it is with a shove, fingers too tight as they press into her legs, his voice caught in a groan. His teeth hit hers, breath hot on her lips as he moans his out-breath, shuddering against his barely kept restraint. He touches her and she wishes there was more hesitancy in his hands, less surety when he smiles, kissing the crook of her neck. “What will you do, then,” his fingers ask again as she clings to his shirt.

 

She closes her eyes and she is miles outside of her body, outside of this house. She is on a feather bed and when he kisses her neck, it is safe. In this world she is apologizing, embarrassed. “I don't mind,” he lies. “I don't mind.” Her knees shake and she is pulled back to this world as she almost falls, but he catches her, laughs again as he kisses her.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, relaxing her self-righting grip upon his back.

“Don't mind at all,” his words buzz against her jaw, kissed as bruises into her skin. She closes her eyes but does not leave this time, letting him bend her back, spine arched neat against him as he traces her over. Smooth as ever, he lifts her up, thighs wrapped about his waist, and for half a second she thinks they are off to the feather bed after all. But that is not for her, she must remember, and so instead he sets her on the edge of the table, lets her unbutton his pants, kisses her open lips as if to take the unrequited words out of them. 

And when he moves inside her, it is Alexander's knot redone, all of the worlds leading up to here, where she is pointing her toes, raking his back. Behind her eyes the stars make a map of every way they have ever been damned. “There!” she wants to point to the catalyst, “there!” But instead she gasps, breaths in the heady smell of sweat.

 

“There!” She grips him tight enough to draw blood, and for a moment that is almost all it takes. He kisses her throat again, wishes he could kiss the words instead, wants to swallow every moment where she is thinking of him. 

When she goes boneless in his arms, she sighs, curling herself into his chest as he finishes. When he is done, he doesn't let go, doesn't want her to slip away from this. Her ear presses to his heart and for a moment he is aware of it himself, but then her hands are moving against his back and all thought is gone. She does not kiss him, but she also does not leave. In another life, he kisses her but never sees her again. In another love they haven't even met. In this life, she curls her arms in against herself and he breaks away long enough to throw his shirt over her shoulders. In this life, she kisses him, and he does not mind that she is abrasive as she jumps down because she looks back at him before she leaves the room. 

 


	64. I have you shoved against the wall but now I can’t stop looking at your mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spy AU

Gripping her biceps tightly, he shoves her back against the wall, “Shut up!” 

Opening her mouth to tell him off, she freezes, finally hearing the voices down the hall. For a tense moment, they hold the silence, but then the voices grow distant again, and he lets out a sigh of relief.

“Care to put me down?”

With a stroke of amusement, he notices her feet aren't actually touching the floor. However, rather than relax his grip, he decides this is a teachable moment. 

“You're going to get one or both of us killed if you don't start using your head. You're a goddamn idiot; do you know that?” Unblinking, she kicks his leg, and cursing, he drops her, quickly pressing a forearm to her sternum, holding her back. “Oh my god- You're such a goddamn bitch,” the words are strained as he spits them between his teeth. 

“I don't want your advice.”

“No, but you need it.” 

“Fuck off!”

“Christ,” he winces as he rubs his shin. “You watch your goddamn mouth.”

“Or? I'm not fucking scared of you.”

“You should be.” Straightening up, he looks down at her, takes in the hard set of her jaw. 

“What? Are you going to lecture me to death?” 

He lets his eyes graze over her thin neck, the stiff Cupid's bow of her lips. Distracted, he glances at her eyes only briefly. “My, you ARE new, aren't you?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“You haven't heard the stories surrounding my fame?”

“Oh, get over yourself.”

He presses his arm tighter against her chest and feels her breath catch. 

“You cannot even begin to fathom my body count, Dear.”

“Yeah, okay. You want to back off now?”

“No,” he digs his fingers into her shoulder. “Not particularly.” 

“You want to die?”

“Confident, aren't you?”

“Let go of me.”

“Why should I?”

“Depends,” ever cocky, she narrows her eyes, “What do you want?” 

Cocking his eyebrow, he leans down, almost amused. “You actually think you have anything you can offer me?”

“I'm trying to be nice. If you'd rather, I could just stab you.”

“No you couldn't,” smirking, he glanced back over her lips. In truth, there were quite a few things he wanted, but he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of saying so. Shoving him back, she tries to side-step him, but he rights his grip, catching her jaw with his free hand. His ring finger presses to her jugular and he can feel her pulse thrum quick, his palm resting lightly against her bare skin. “Cute,” giving into the temptation to piss her off even further, he leans into her space, kisses her forehead. “You still think you're smarter than me?” As he draws back, he notices for the first time just how dark her eyes are. Her lips pull into a tight scowl. “Why, I could swallow you whole, and no one would be any the wiser.” To her credit, she meets his eyes, ever defiant. Just when he is deciding to let go, she kicks him again, and cursing, he takes a quick step backwards before locking his arms tight, holding her in place. She doesn't struggle, and he realizes that she really isn't afraid. The dumb girl is too stupid to even know she's in danger. 

“If you don't stop that-” he grinds the words between his teeth. 

“You'll what? What will you do?”

“Something creatively heinous, you can be certain.”

“You want me to stop, I want you to let go. You never want to see me again? There are easier ways than making an idiot out of yourself trying to kill me.”

“Never see you again? And here I thought we were having fun. Do you not enjoy my company, Dear?”

“Not nearly so much as you enjoy mine, I would imagine.”

“Then why do you keep letting me catch you?” Smirking, he leaned in again, enjoying the panicked brush of her breath on his skin. “Even I know you're not that bad.”

“I'm the one catching you, idiot.”

“Are you certain about that?” he rolls his fingers teasingly.

“Are you?” 

There is a moment of silence where he unabashedly stares as her lips uncurl from her smirk. And then, leaning in, he lets his mouth rest just above hers, so close he can feel the warmth of her body. There is perfect quiet as neither breathe, any movement enough to negate the space, but then he is kissing her, and it is exactly as he thought it would be. Still stiff, she doesn't kiss him back so much as let herself be kissed, but then, ever so slowly, her hand moves to his waist. Taking the opportunity for its entire worth, he cranes her face up, deepens the kiss. He can feel the press of her chest against his arm as she takes a deep breath in, the sound ragged and uncertain. Relaxing into the touch, she doesn't fight as he releases his grip, lacing his arm behind her. Palm pressing to the small of her back, he arches her up against himself, pride roaring as her hands slide to his chest, his neck- Something sharp pricks him. He opens his eyes and finds his own knife at his throat. 

“Clever girl,” he smiles.

“Yes. Now,” stepping away, she keeps her arm outstretched, “if you don't mind, I'll be on my way.”

“What's the rush?” Still smiling, he lifts his empty hands up. 

“I've got less heinous places to be.”

“So unkind,” shaking his head, he clicks his tongue. 

“Consider it a lesson.” Still watching him, she backs out the door. 

“Wait-” reaching a hand out, he motions for her to stop, “Leave the knife; it's my favorite.” 

“Like hell I will.”

“Don’t be a bitch.”

“You can have it back next time.” 

“You're cruel, Dear.”

“And?”

“Never said it was a bad thing. I like my women mean. Until next time, then,” he winks, amused when she grimaces in return. 

“Fuck you.”

“I well intend to.” For a moment, he thinks she'll return the knife after all in the form of making him scabbard, but she simply leaves, wordless and flushed, into the dark. 


	65. We were dancing but all of a sudden it’s a slow song and we’re standing here awkwardly staring at each other

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kitlaf

“You shouldn’t be here.” She hissed the words quietly, her cheek pressed wonderfully close to his. It almost took him off guard, how quickly she had seen through his disguise; leave it to Kit to ruin a masquerade. Getting to her had been a careful calculation, but sure enough, as the last dance ended, he had managed to sneak his way in, stealing her away from whatever undeserving fortunate stood in his way.

“Are you going to tell on me?” He couldn’t hide the smirk from his voice, glad to be teasing her again.

“Listen- Just give me time to explain-” 

Shushing her, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, continuing to follow the lazy pattern of steps, “It’s behind us. Let the past be the past, Darling.” 

“I’m not stupid.”

“No,” smirking down at her, he examined the dark quiet of her eyes, “I didn’t think so either.”

“It isn’t what you think-”

“I think,” he let his voice lilt in time with the music, “that I’m sharing a dance with my wife.”

“Olaf, please,” her voice strained but didn’t break. Looking away, he surveyed the crowd nonchalantly. Struggling to swallow down the choking disgust in his throat, he imagined the entire room going up in flames. Better. 

“Please?”

“Whatever it is you’re planning-”

“I’m planning-” he interrupted her, “-to have a nice evening with my wife, the woman I love. I just want to have a perfectly splendid night wherein I am charming, and she laughs at my jokes, and we are so in love that even in our graveyard of company, there are no skeletons in our closet. Is that too much?”

Looking away, she took in a deep breath, holding it. “No.”

“Good.” Tightening his grip on her hand, he let his mind become a quick repetition of the steps--back, two, left, two, up, two, left, two--until it became a rhythmic mantra, shoving out everything else. There was time enough for everything else later.

“What will you do, then?” Her voice was flat, distracted, as if they were discussing the weather. 

Looking over the crowd again, he shrugged. “I haven’t decided.”

“You won’t tell me then,” it was both a statement and a question.

“Would you?” 

“I didn’t mean for-” 

“Champagne, Darling?” Whisking a glass off the tray of a nearby waiter, he offered it to her with a strained smile.

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“I insist.”

“I-” she took the glass from his hand, holding it awkwardly against his shoulder as they continued the dance.”Are you going to do anything tonight?”

“Tonight,” letting go of her waist, he nudged the glass closer to her face, “I intend on passing an exquisite and pleasant evening with my wife. I've told you as much.”

“Your roles are getting more and more challenging, aren’t they?” Draining the glass in one turn, she placed it to the side, on top of some houseplant they passed. 

“It’s part of the art,” he smirked, insides keening at the way her lips shone from the drink.

“So, you came for, what, the party?” she knit her brow together, anxious and wary.

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” he scoffed. “You know I don’t like parties.”

“So why bother-” her words died off as the music swelled to a stop, the empty air much too vulnerable. After accepting a polite spattering of applause, the band gently picked up again, lulling into a slow old song, dripping with blues and yearning. 

“I came because I wanted to see you.”

Closing her eyes, she took in a sharp breath of air, “Olaf-”

“One more night. Then I can prove you right, and you can be the hero, and you can tell them all how awful it was- Just… One more night.”

“Alright,” standing there, she relaxed her grip on his hand. “One more night.” 

Silent, he watched her eyes again, reacting with an instinctive hatred to just how thoroughly brown they were. Damn woman didn’t even have the decency to look ugly; she couldn’t even give him that edge. 

Gingerly, still awkward with the straining pulse of unspoken pains, she lifted her hands to his shoulders, lacing her fingers behind his neck. Following her lead, he wrapped his arms behind her waist, mournfully glad when she stepped closer to him. Resting her head against his chest, she sighed, swaying back and forth in time with the song. Pressing his cheek to the top of her head, he breathed in the scent of her hair. Mostly it smelled like hairspray, but also cloves and cinnamon. He closed his eyes. 

 

Silent, she let her head fit in the crook of his neck, not quite sure how to untangle the knot of her tongue. This was it; the Worst Thing. His hands pressed warm to her back, simultaneously comforting and terrible. For a moment she desperately wanted to pull away, to say “Surprise! It was all a horrible joke!” But no. It was over. Or at least, it was almost over; they had one night left. One night. 

Tightening her grip about his shoulders, she pressed a stiff kiss beneath his jaw, feeling him flex the muscles taunt as he paused, freezing for a second, letting the moment settle warm. Gently, almost carefully, he re-tightened his embrace about her, until she was pulled flush against his chest. Closing her eyes, she furrowed her brow, gut plummeting to a depth she did not contain as his fingers brushed kind against her.

 

“Come home tonight.” Her voice was directive, unwavering as she whispered against his chest.

“Yes?” It had been a few days since he’d been home, since he’d seen her last. It wasn’t a place he was welcome anymore. “You have an ambush planned?”

“Is that how most of your dates end?”

“With you? Absolutely.” For a moment they both smiled, separate, but realizing the truth in the joke, didn’t laugh. Quiet, they continued to sway. “You know I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well, you’ll be there, for starters.”

“Something wrong with that?”

“Ki- Snicket, you know-”

“Come on; it’s a perfectly lovely evening. Like you said, I'll be a model wife, you'll be dastardly charming,” taking one of her hands from behind his neck, she slid it down to cover his heart. “Why not put a bow on this nice wholesome picture?” 

“Do you want me to?” Covering her hand with his own, he continued to rock back and forth. She was never a particularly expressive woman, but even in the silence he could guess what her expression looked like.

“That’s… a complicated question. I-”

“Leave the rhetoric behind for once and give me a straight answer.”

“You’re damn impatient.”

“I don’t like being toyed with, Snicket.”

Pulling back, she moved just far enough to meet his eyes, and then, leaning forward ever so slightly, kissed his lips. Damn fool. No wonder he was so easily tricked.

“Please,” brushing a hand against his cheek, she brought her mouth to his once more as the music faded to a velvet stop.


	66. "Oh, my God, I thought you were going to die. Please don’t ever scare me like that again."

“Where the hell were you?!”

His clothes are, while not altogether torn, sorely in need of repairs. Shutting the door with a bang, he collapses into his chair, massaging his eyes, “I need a drink.”

“It's been HOURS since you should have been back!”

“Seriously. A drink, please?”

“Do you have any idea what time it is? For all I knew you were dead in a ditch!”

“Scotch. Neat.”

“And not just any ditch! Some woefully incriminating ditch just to make everything that much more difficult! Do you ever think about anyone else?!”

“At this point I'd settle for a stiff paint thinner.”

“And what the hell did you do to your clothes?”

“My clothes?” As if noticing for the first time, he looks down. 

“You scared me, idiot!” Still mad, she smacked the side of his arm.

“It's fine! Everything's fine,” sighing, he sits back.

 

“Fine? Doesn't look fine.”

“It's alright,” holding her wrist, he tries to calm her down, almost smiling at the angry furrow of her brow. “So, what? You worry about me?”

“Evidently you don't!” Still irritated, she lets him tug her forward to stand between his knees. He notices she's still wearing her dress from the day before.

“Poor little Violet,” he sighs, running his hands up her arms, “nasty husband can't even call before almost dying.”

“You almost  _ died _ ?” By her tone, he surmises she didn't get the joke.

“No one almost died. Come here,” tugging her forward, he tries to pull her into his open lap, “be a good little wife and give me a welcome home kiss.”

“If you die without telling me, I'm going to be so mad at you,” still annoyed but less irate, she lets him, wrapping her arms behind his neck. 

 

“Missed me?” he says it with a smirk, fingers already pushing up beneath her skirt. 

“Don't think too much of it,” she frowns, but kisses him anyway, letting the anger dissolve into a more comfortable relief. 

 


	67. Talk Out of Murder

He checks the clock again. Ten minutes until it's two hours to the end of his shift. Again he realigns the pen with the side of the till and watches as it rolls down the sloped desk to rest at an awkward angle. For the third time that hour, he contemplates drowning himself in the employee restroom just to break up the monotony. He leans his elbows against the countertop. Why can't they get chairs? It's inhumane to make a person stand so long. 

The slam of a car door draws his attention to the parking lot outside the window. He silently wishes whoever it is away; the only thing worse than boredom is customers. A man is stalking across the parking lot, obviously fuming. Intrigued but ultimately uninterested, he follows the tall man with his eyes, thinks he knows him from somewhere, but then the girl races to catch up and he forgets all about the man.

It's the same girl who had come in earlier; dark hair, green dress. One of her socks is falling down as she manages to catch up with the tall man. Cute. She had definitely been in before, distracted and just as pretty as she waited in his line and he tried to work up the nerve to speak to her. He'd at least taken advantage of the moment to write his number on her receipt, y'know, just in case. 

Facing the tall man, she pressed her hands to his chest, trying to stop him. Pushing on, he lifted her out of the way with a comical ease. Squinting, he tried to better see their faces. He was old enough to be her father… but, no- she didn't look anything like him. Stepfather? An uncle maybe? 

Digging her heels into the dirt, she wrapped her arms around his waist, trying to hold him in place. Only somewhat impeded by the inconvenience, the man continued on, albeit slowly. He half-wished she'd let the tall man go; he was dying to see what would happen. For a moment, it looked like he might break loose after all, but then, patting his pocket, the tall man stopped and began to yell at the quickly retreating girl, who by the looks of it, was waving around whatever she had stolen. Making a dramatic show of a shrug, the man pulled a similarly slender object from his inner jacket before turning to continue. The radio crackled as someone in the back began requesting help. He turned it off.

Running around the tall man, the girl clung to his shoulders, causing him to stoop but not stop. There was only another ten feet or so to the door, he quietly noted. Running her fingers against his face, the girl finally directed the man's gaze towards her. He couldn't see the girl's expression, but the tall man's face was pinched, irritated. For half a second, he considered playing the hero, stepping in to save her, but watching how the man's hands clenched, decided to give it a few more minutes, just to be safe. Not supposed to leave a workstation, and all that. 

The girl kept taking as she pet along the man's face and shoulders, and though he couldn't see her face, he gathered her earnest tone by her body language. He watched the man's complexion change from irritation to exhaustion and back again to anger a few times. Just when he had made up his mind to be her hero after all, the man begrudgingly leaned down, kissing her. He watched them for a few seconds before clearing his throat and looking away. So he wouldn't be waiting on that call after all. 

When he looked back, the pretty girl was pulling the still pissed man along, arm behind him as they walked off. Damn. He checked the clock. Two minutes until two hours until he got to go home. He realigned the pen. 


	68. "Who Hurt You"

“Who hurt you?” he demands before even asking if she’s okay.

“No one. It’s just- I’m fine.” If she wasn’t so distractedly pissed, the way his body folds up so that he can crouch beside her on the floor would almost be comical.

“Let me see.”

“It’s fine, it’s-” her breath hisses sharply as he grabs her wrist, fingers inadvertently pressing against the raw skin. 

“Does that hurt?”

“Fuck,” the word pinches its way through her teeth. “Yes.”

“How the hell did-”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s fine.”

“I’m not worried, just curious,” but the twitch of his lip betrays him. “So how did-”

“Shit! That hurts!” Quick, she pulls her hand back, the cursory brush of his fingertips reigniting the burn. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay. But you have to let me see it.”

“What the hell are you going to do-” her sentence is cut off with a cry as he takes her arm once again, turning her wrist to examine her hand.

“Calm down, you’re alright.”

“I am calm! I-”

“Just breath, okay?” Holding her more gingerly now, he stares intently at the red skin. “We should probably try to get that ring off. It’ll make healing easier.”

“Don’t you dare!” pulling away for a second time, she covers her hand protectively. 

He smirks, “Feeling sentimental, are we? Afraid I’ll-”

“Don’t be an idiot! It hurts, is all.”

“Of course. Whatever you insist, Darling.” Standing, he starts running the kitchen tap, opens a cabinet and removes a small box of gauze and bandaging and all sorts of concoctions meant to stop all kinds of bleeding. Bending down, he takes the elbow of her good arm, stands her up. “You’ve yet to answer my question.”

“Which was?”

“How did this happen?”

She shuffles her feet, stares at the tap so that she doesn’t look at the stove, “It was just an accident, alright? It’s fine, I can handle it myself.”

“I’m sure. And as much as I’d love to see you attempt a dressing one-handed,” taking her forearm, he places her injured hand beneath the cold, slow-running tap, “I’d much rather have a wife with some degree of competency, and if you lose a hand that’ll cut your skills right in half.”

“Not necessarily. There are lots of-”

“Regardless, you’ll have to pick another time or way to pointlessly endanger yourself.” Without asking, he reaches over, unties the blue ribbon from her wrist. 

“Hey,” reaching with her good hand, she tries to grab it back, but he holds it above her head.

“If you won’t take off the ring, you should at least get rid of this.”

“Fine. Just tie it on this one, will you?” She holds her good arm out, waiting.

“Will I?” He smiles, a purr coming into his voice. Of all the men in the world, she likes him least. 

“What the fuck do you want?” Not having the patience to play his game, she resigns herself to the losing position. 

“Maybe I’ll keep it,” he weaves the thin fabric between his fingers dexterously, making it dance like a koi fish.

“Why?” there is no curiosity in her voice, only exhaustion.

“So you can’t.”

“So, just to piss me off?”

“You know, I’ve been lenient because of your injuries, but really. Language.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I don’t know,” that grating purr still in his voice, he leans against the counter, ties the ribbon about his own wrist. “Perhaps if I’m feeling generous later, I’ll let you earn it back.”

“Why the fuck would I care enough?”

“Because you do,” smiling an infuriatingly smug smile, he rights himself, takes her wrist again and removes her hand from the tap. “Right, let’s get you bandaged up.” 


	69. "Don't be scared, I'm right here"

The room was illuminated by a flash, and then everything was dark. He heard a crash of thunder, echoed by the crash of something falling, a quick shout bookending the clatter. 

“Violet?” He stood, placing a hand against the wall, trying to make his way in the dark.

“I dropped my glass! It's fine, stay there!” There was a tension in her voice, strained, tight. 

“Are you alright?” He took advantage of the next flash of light to start his way down the stairs. “Where are you?”

“I'm fine! There's just- There's glass on the floor!”

“For the first time in the history of the house, I'm sure. Where are you at?”

“The living room, but I'm fine, I don't need help!” 

He could see her now, standing stiff in the middle of the room. Her hands were outstretched as she looked around herself, a puddle of what he suspected to be wine surrounding her bare feet. 

“You sure you don't?”

Pivoting to face his voice, she held a hand out as if to stop him, “Don't! The glass!”

“I'm wearing shoes. Need to be rescued, damsel?”

“I'm fine! I can do this myself! I-” she froze again as the thunder rumbled through the house.

“I'm sure,” coming up behind her, he placed a hand on her shoulder. He could feel her shiver in the dark, her hand coming up quick to grip his arm. “Hey, it's alright; I've got you,” holding her about the waist, he lifted her up to stand her on the couch, smirking as she clung to his shoulders.

“I don't know how it happened, I just-” lightning flashed again and she gripped him tightly. 

“Don’t be scared, I’m right here,” he rubbed the small of her back, amused.

“I'm not scared,” though he couldn't see her face, he could hear the furrow of her brow in her voice. 

“Of course not. You are, however, trapped. I have half a mind to keep you right here, force you to hang out with your doting husband.”

“Very funny. Get me the broom.”

“I thought you didn't need help?” 

“I don't, I-” she was interrupted again by a crash of thunder.

“Right. Come here, then.” Taking advantage of her tightened grip, he scooped her up behind the knees, lifting her bridal-style. “Can't leave you alone, can't leave the mess… Guess I'll just have to take you with me.”

“Now you're just being mean for no reason!” Despite her protest, she made no real effort to get down. 

“Yes, you seem to have a thing for that, don't you? You can thank me later.”

“If you knock me into anything, I will kill you!” Saying so, she intertwined her fingers to better steady her grip. 

“I don't doubt it, Darling,” kissing the top of her head, he carried her through the dark, “I don't doubt it at all.” 


	70. Teasing

Falling into his chair, he sighed, massaging his eyes tiredly. 

“Rough trip?”

“Aren't they always?” 

Humming a sympathetic note, she reached over the back of the chair, rubbing his shoulders, “Poor baby.”

“Quite,” he groaned. “Come take my mind off it?”

“If you insist,” slowly, she walked around, tilting his chin up to kiss him. 

“That's my good girl,” smiling, he held her by the waist, grazing her lightly with his thumbs. 

Brushing her hands from his shoulders to his collar, she began to unbutton his shirt, “I missed you.”

“I can see that,” cocking his eyebrow, he practically purred as she ran her fingers over his bare chest. “Did you spend all day languishing in my absence?”

“Oh, of course,” smiling, she kissed him again. “I was practically weeping.”

“Anything less would be an insult.”

“I'm sure,” leaning in closer, she laughed as they kissed. If it were possible, he would have swallowed the sound, carried it within him. Without looking, she undid his belt, tugging it open with a click.

“You're in a hurry,” he dragged a hand down her thigh, tugging her forward until she was climbing into his lap. 

“I've been languishing, dear.”

“Yes, of course, but don't take all the fun for yourself.” Wrapping his arms around her, he slid his tongue over her teeth. When she moaned in reply, he let his hands wander down to her thighs. Groaning, she pressed herself flat to his chest, rolling her hips against him.

“My god,” he broke away, kissing her jaw, “You really did miss me.”

“Did you think I was a liar?” her voice was low, breathy as he ran his hands back up to her abdomen, tracing over each separate curve. 

“I think you're a very pretty girl, and they often know how to get what they want.”

“It isn't my fault you don't often speak to pretty girls.”

“Maybe you're right. Maybe I need to get out and practice more.”

“Don't you dare!”

“What's wrong? Are you jealous?”

“No, I just know you well enough to see a mess coming.”

“You're very rude, Dear. Maybe I should get a nice, new, pretty wife.”

“Would you at least keep me on as the help?”

“Would you like that?”

“It'll speed up the process of you coming crawling back.”

“I don't crawl, Darling.”

“No, but something tells me you could be persuaded with motivation enough.”

“And what's my motivation?” 

Slowly, taking his hand, she drew it up to her chest, pressing his fingers around to cup her breast as she kissed him. 

As she broke the kiss, he groaned deep in his throat, slowly opening his eyes with a smirk, “I'll tell my new wife to pack her bags.”

“Good; she was getting in the way.” Delighted, she squeaked as he grabbed her, holding her tightly as he kissed her again. 

Warm, she melted into his grasp, once more opening her mouth for him. 

Never content, his hands roamed over all of her, desperate for more touch, to make up for lost time. Eager to help, she rocked against him, thighs pressing to his hips as she moaned, teasing him happily. Gripping her tight by the waist, he bucked up against her almost involuntarily, simultaneously feeling terribly restricted and wishing she could get closer. Despite the thinness of the fabric, anything less than skin on skin wasn't enough. 

Evidently feeling the same way, she let her warm hands slide all over his chest, his shoulders, his throat, always looking for more, until she was brushing down his abdomen, unbuttoning his pants.

 

Reaching behind her, he gripped her ass, rolling her hips forward. She whimpered as he ground up against her, pressing his stiffening erection between her legs. 

“Fuck,” she groaned, pressing her lips to his neck, unsuccessfully trying to stifle a moan. 

“You like that?” he let his voice lull, nipping the skin beneath her ear with his teeth. 

“Don't stop,” wrapping her arms tight around his shoulders, she let him rock against her. 

“Who said anything about stopping?” he purred, pressing his tongue to her throat. 

“I-” she gasped, breath catching as he pushed his hand into her panties. 

“Good,” he smirked, letting his fingers brush over her. “You really like that, don't you?”

“Please, just-” whining, she rolled her hips forward into his touch.

“Please what, Countess? Tell me what you want.” Steadily, he rubbed at her, took his time. 

“Please keep going,” she shivered, all her muscles taut. 

“What a good girl,” he kissed her jaw, voice low. “My good girl, right? You're my girl?”

“Yes,” she gasped, knees shaking against him. 

“Let me hear you say it.”

“I'm your girl,” she clutched his shirt in her fists. 

 

“Yes, that's right. That's good.” Easily, he rubbed at her, using just enough pressure to force her to play along. 

Biting her lip, she moaned, craning her neck so he could more easily reach, “God, I missed you.”

“Are you just trying to make me happy so I'll be more generous?”

“And if I am?”

“I'll allow it.” Greedy, he groaned against her bare throat. When he rocked against her, trying to rub himself against her leg, she could feel just how hard he was, how ready. The thought buzzed in her lower belly, flipped as he quickened the strokes of his hand. 

“Shit, I'm so close- I'm-”

“Do you think I should let you cum so soon?” There was a dangerous grin to his tone.

“I want you to. I need-” her sentence cut off as he picked up speed again, making her cry out.

“Yes, of course you want me to. That doesn't mean I will, though.” Pulling back, he drank in the delightfully hazy look in her eyes. 

“Don't-”

Shushing her, he kissed her parted lips. “Quiet, now.” Drawing his hand away, he tucked his fingers between his lips before unbuttoning her shirt. “Show me how good you can be.”

“Fuck, come on,” grabbing his wrists, she kissed him again, desperately. Sliding his hands up her thighs, he dug his fingers into her legs, pushing up her skirt. 

“Take this off for me.”

“You're being a tease!”

“Take it off.”

Standing, she tugged it off quickly, letting him wrap her in his arms. 

“Good. Very good,” slowly, he slid a hand up her thigh, tugging down her panties before brushing between her legs. For an instant, her knees almost buckled, and she grabbed onto his shoulders for support. “You like that?” he smirked.

“Come on,” she groaned, kissing him again. 

“You like it when I touch you, Countess?”

“Seriously… Please.”

“You want me to touch you?”

“I want-” she gasped as he rubbed against her before slowly pressing a finger inside her, “That! Don't stop doing that!”

“You keep telling me not to stop, but Darling,” slowly, carefully, he pumped his finger inside her rhythmically, “you won't even let me get started.”

“You're being… very cruel,” she grit her teeth, wrinkling his shirt as she gripped it. 

“Yes, Violet; I'm a bad man,” he kissed her abdomen, “a very, very bad man.” Reaching behind her with his free hand, he unclasped the back of her bra.  

“You are,” she arched her back, gasping. 

“But you like bad men, don't you?”

“Please, just-”

“Don't bother lying, Countess. You're already so nice and wet for me. And the way you keep begging; please, please, please…” he let his voice trail off with a smirk. 

“You bastard,” she grit her teeth.

“Now, now. You were being so good earlier, too.” Feigning disappointment, he sped up with a sigh. 

Gasping, she faltered, clutching behind his neck, “If you don't stop… being so… fucking… awful… I will-”

“You'll what? Clamor into my lap and cry until I fuck you?”

“Maybe… I will!”

“What a threat, Dear,” he slid his tongue over her breast, tugged at her nipple with his teeth. “By all means. You know I love it when you beg.” 

Whining, she pressed her hips towards him, trying to get closer, to egg him on, “Why are… you being… a jerk?” 

“Because you like it. And because that's what happens when you're a brat.”

“Unbelievable.” 

“Besides, maybe I like you like this, entirely at my will. So ready to do whatever I ask.”

“Don't-”

“Such a pretty thing. No, I would never rush this.” 

With a cry, she stumbled, knees buckling so that she fell against him. Withdrawing his hand, he listened to the sound of her gasping against his shoulder.

“Shit… Please, I'm so close-”

“Then you'd better start behaving.”

“What do you want?” There was enough irritation in her voice to flay a less stubborn man. He smiled.

“I want to take my time. To enjoy this.” Slowly, he resumed stroking at her, sliding two of the fingers of his free hand over her bottom lip, rolling it. After a moment, she parted her teeth, let her tongue touch his fingertips. “There are plenty of men who would be more than willing to just fuck you. But I want to ruin you.” 

“Are you… mad at me?” 

“No, no. Not at all,” he shook his head. “But you can't be my girl and also have it easy.”

“No?”

“No.” He slid his fingers further into her mouth, pressed down on her tongue. “So you can keep being a brat, or you can be a good girl and trust me.” 

Silent, she brought a knee up on the seat beside him, brushed a hand up against his cheek. Glad, he slowly drew his fingers against her tongue, smiling as she closed her lips around him so that it made a popping sound when he pulled away. Groaning, she leaned down, kissed his mouth, her lips held tight in a whine. 

“Is there a problem, Countess?” he teased, rubbing at her in smooth circles.

“I want you,” she cupped his face, brushed her tongue against his lips. 

“Yes?” he whispered, smug. 

“Yes,” she moaned, drawing a hand down his chest.

“Patience, Darling.”

“Why? What for?” Slyly, the little minx drew her fingers down, pressing her warm hand to his groin. His already tented pants strained as he bit back a groan. 

“What did I tell you about being a brat?” Rough, he thrust a finger inside her, causing her to gasp. “You want to be a brat?”

“Your brat,” she smiled, kissing him again, lips opening around her shaky breath. 

“I don't keep brats. You want to be mine, you've got to start acting like a lady.”

“Since when?”

“That's enough. Come here,” grabbing her arm, he pulled her down into his lap, pivoting her quickly. With a startled cry, she fell against him, the back of her head fitting against the crook of his neck. “Is this what you wanted, Countess?” Quick, he thrust his fingers into her, drank in the sounds of her gasps as she arched up, cute little perky breasts moving with her gasps. Reaching up behind her, he cupped one in his hand, pressed his lips to her temple as he rubbed at her furiously. 

“Oh my god, I-” she reached behind herself, held tight to the back of his neck, “Don't stop!”

“You don't like playing nice, do you? You want me to take what's mine?”

“Please, I'm so close, I'm about to-” 

“No you're not.” Tightening his grip on her breast, he kissed her temple again. “Not until I say.”

“I don't think… It works… like that,” she struggled to speak between gasps, words strained. 

“I think that's exactly how it works.” With a smirk, he stopped, keeping his immobile hand between her legs.  

“No! Come on, please,” she dug her fingers into him. 

“How cute,” he murmured, kissing down her cheek. “Little Violet, so helpless.”

“Please,” she whined, trying to press her hips up against him. 

“And god, so pretty…” slowly, he bucked up against her, groaning with each shallow thrust. Crying out, she quickly stifled the sound, biting down on her lip. Gentle, he pressed a finger inside her slowly, mimicking the moan she gave in reply. “Such a pretty little thing, aren't you?”

“Please,” she whimpered, tugging at him frantically. 

“Are you ready to behave?” 

“Whatever you want, just-”

“Whatever I want, you say…” he hummed quietly, giving shallow thrusts with his fingers, just deep enough to tease. “Haven't you learned that lesson already?”  

“Please, I'm sorry,” her shaking thighs pressed to the arms of the couch, so far spread, it was a wonder it didn't hurt her. 

“You're sorry?” he chuckled. 

“Yes, just-”

“Are you really?”

“Yes, I'm sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“Whatever I need to be.”

“Sorry for being a greedy little whore?” 

“I'm-”

“Sorry for being a selfish brat?”

“If you-”

“Sorry for being so mean to your doting husband?”

“Please!” Her voice was practically vibrating, her entire body shaking as she tried to push her hips up into his touch. 

Still holding her tight, he ground himself up against her, “Tell me what you want, Violet.”

“I want you! I'm… I'm yours. I want to be yours.” 

“Sure you don't want to be a brat?” 

“Please! I'm yours, just yours,” she hummed a high pitched note as he sped up, thrusting his fingers inside her.

“Are you my girl?”

“I'm your girl!”

“Good,” kissing the side of her face, he began to thrust deeper inside her, rocking his erection against her with each movement. “Good girl.” 

Clutching at him, she cried out, knuckles going white, “Please, please, please don't stop!” 

“You want to show me how pretty you look when you cum for me?” 

“Yes! Yes, I-”

“Then go on, Darling. Sing me a pretty little song.” 

As he worked briskly, rhythmically, her groans became squeaks of sound, feet flexing, toes curling as she held him tight. Pressing his tongue to her throat, he carefully nipped at the skin, leaving a purple bruise to mark his place. After a while, she ceased to make any sound at all, simply shaking in his arms before going completely limp, leaning against his chest with a deep sigh.

“What a good girl,” he kissed her forehead, petting her hair back. Eagerly, he opened his pants, palming his erection. “Such a good girl deserves a reward, don't you think?” 

“I thought-”

“You thought we were done? Oh no no no,” kissing her head again, he lifted her carefully, helping her to her feet. Unsteady, she held onto his arm, trying to balance. “My Dear, there is so much left for us to do.” Smoothly, he pressed her to the wall, kissing the back of her neck. 

“Wait, I-” she moaned, knees buckling again. 

“I've got you. I have you,” kissing her neck again, he held her up, pressing his erection to her back. “So good to me, aren't you?” 

Spinning her around, he dug his fingers into her legs, lifting her. Quick, she wrapped herself around him, thighs tight against his sides. Kissing her throat, he groaned, rubbing himself against her. As she whimpered, he lined himself up and thrust inside her. 

Crying out loudly, she almost let go, but he shoved her back roughly, keeping her pressed to himself, “Shh, good girl. You're okay. Isn't this what you wanted?” Gasping in time to his rough thrusts, she simply clung to him. “Yes, I know. So good, waiting so nicely when all you wanted was to be fucked against the wall. Is that what you like, Countess?” Drawing her knees up, she buried her face in his shoulder, sobs of breath escaping her with each movement. “You like being my good girl. You like begging for it. You like begging for me to fuck you.” Thoroughly hot and bothered by absolutely everything leading up to that point, he hammered against her roughly. “You like it when I'm mean, don't you, little brat? You like it when I tease you. You like when I touch you.” He could feel her fingers tugging at his shirt, was honestly surprised she hadn't ripped it. Gasping, her breath rattled against his neck. “Well? What do you have to say for yourself? Answer me.” 

Gingerly, she drew back until she was pressed to the wall, staring at his mouth. Slowly, she brushed her fingers over his face, eyes glassy as she watched her own motions. 

As he watched her, it took almost all his concentration not to break rhythm. “Well?” he asked, but all the faux spite had gone out of him. “Speak up, Orphan.”

Brushing her thumb against his bottom lip, she stared quietly, letting him rock into her until leaning in, she kissed him, cupping his jaw. 

“Olaf,” she whimpered, his name barely anything more than a breath. A shiver ran down his entire body, tongue pushing into her mouth as if to taste the way his name sounded when cradled between her holy teeth. 

Still bucking into her, he groaned into her mouth, completely enraptured by the way she fit against him. Shuddering, she moaned, arching away from the wall as she climaxed. 

Breaking for air, she pressed her cheek to his, breath soft in his ear. Kissing her shoulder, he held her up, chasing his own imminent finish. With each thrust, she whined quietly, completely limp in his arms, until, with a groan, he finished, hard, a knot of pent-up energy untying itself. 

Slowly, he lowered her to the ground, still holding her beneath her arms as he walked them both to the chair, sitting down and pulling her into his lap. 

Easily, she curled against him, resting her head on his chest, eyes closed. Careful, gentle, he brushed his hand over her back, stroking her lovingly. 

“I'm your girl?”

Her voice was so quiet, he almost didn't hear her. Smiling, he kissed the top of his head. 

“You're my girl.” 

“Yeah?”

“Of course. No one else could ever get away with causing me half the trouble you do.” 

“Is that a good thing?”

“It's the best thing.”

Content, she hummed, nestling herself against him. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Have something you want to see? Prompt lists are posted to the tumblr (ourlittlesecretokay), or, for the low low price of one coffee, you can get me to write whatever the hell it is you're tryna read (within reason) by donating to my ko-fi account by the same name! 
> 
> Cheers, and Thanks!


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